A New Alpha In Town
by Princely Archer
Summary: Quinn McCall is a teen in Beacon Hills, living with her mother and spending her days with her friend, Stiles. When she's bitten by a demonic wolf that turns her into a werewolf, she's going to need help from Derek Hale with her bloodlust. Fortunately pride has never been her downfall. And that she's good at rolling with the supernatural punches. Updates will probably be slow. :)
1. Wolf Line

**Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf nor anything connected to it, except for Quinn McCall.**

**Hi, so, first story ever, not sure how it's going to go. I get bored or distracted depressingly easily, so can't ensure story will be finished or even continued, sorry. But if I didn't type story down then it wouldn't leave me alone, and if I didn't publish it now I probably never would- so here we are.**

**Quinn is portrayed by Willa Holland, whose eyes change between green and blue but for the sake of the story they are blue. I also tried to make her likeable but, no matter how I wish I was, I don't consider myself an inherently funny person nor a great writer.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Quinn Alarice McCall was in her room and instead of being in bed and getting a goodnights sleep for the first day back to school, she was sitting _on_ her bed, laptop on her lap, surfing the web. Her fingers were thin, nimble, and skirting across the keys with all the expertise of a modern teenager. Her layered hair, a lovely light brown colour, fell over the front of her shoulders and the sides of her face, ending just around her humble bust. Her striking blue eyes were lined with black make-up, giving her an ever intense stare. Her slender eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion, and she pulled her headphones down to rest around her neck, as she thought she felt a vibration through the floor from a thump from outside. Shedding the headphones completely to lay them on her bed, Quinn stood and glanced out her window; she saw nothing but did hear another rustle as though something- _someone_- was crawling through the bushes.

She hadn't shed her day-clothes yet so, grabbing the baseball bat her father had bought her for her fifteenth birthday- that he hadn't actually attended- so she could at least remotely defend herself, she left her room and dashed down the stairs to investigate. Stepping out the front door onto the porch, she took slow tip-toeing paces forward on the tips of her feet. When, hardly an inch from her own face, something dropped down from the roof- startled, Quinn instinctively lashed out with the bat and felt the thrum of it connecting with someone's torso. Said someone, who fell the rest of the way into the luckily placed ferns, let out a shriek she was familiar with.

"_Stiles_?"

Stiles Stilinski was Quinn's best- and, well, _only_- friend. Only child of the town sheriff and, ironically, quite the rapscallion. And he usually took her along for the ride- not to say she was _unwilling_. Catching sight of his crumpled yet relatively unharmed form in the bushes, hilarity burst forth. Briefly taking off her stylish black square-frame glasses she'd been unable to see without since she was seven, Quinn wiped at her eyes as a few humoured tears swelled.

As she laughed her head off, lowering her weapon at her side, Stiles picked himself up off the ground and scowled at her. "Yeah, laugh it up, Quinn. Just wait till I file the assault charges," he grouched, before brightening considerably. A model case of ADHD, his hyper activeness and somewhat defective attention-span was an endless source of amusement for Quinn. "Look, I know it's late, but you gotta hear this. I saw my dad leave twenty minutes ago; dispatch called. They're bringing in every officer from the Beacon Department, and even state police."

Crossing her arms with a sly smile curling at the edges of her mouth, Quinn pushed her glasses higher up her nose with a finger, "Alright, I'll bite. Why?"

"Two joggers found a body in the woods." One) who would be out jogging this time of the night? two) it was a terribly morbid subject for the shine of unbridled excitement Stiles was displaying. But small towns did that to a person, particularly a teenage boy. The monotony became so tedious that all new developments were worth celebrating. Hopping over the posts of her porch so he stood before her, he continued before she had a chance to respond. "It was a girl, probably in her late twenties."

"Suicide, homicide, accident?"

"Nobody knows yet. And the best part..." the best part was that Stiles actually paused for dramatic effect, "they only found _half_." Stiles' voice actually pitched an octave from his enthusiasm.

Wow. Perhaps sleepy little town of Beacon Hills wasn't so sleepy after all. "So you expect me to go trampling around the super creepy woods in the middle of the night so we can find half a girl's corpse?" Stiles actually stalled for a moment, his mouth falling open as he tried desperately to think up a convincing argument, when Quinn grinned; a bit wickedly, most definitely amused. "I'm in."

* * *

Which was how they both ended up tramping around the super creepy woods, just as she said. They left Stile's lovely blue jeep at the sign that said no prohibited entrance and struck out on foot. As they waded through bushes, around tree trunks and ducked under low-hanging branches, Quinn stepped up beside Stiles, matching his long strides to Question, "Say, what are we actually looking for - top half, bottom half, spliced down the middle?" not to be insensitive or anything, but it seemed like a good query. She didn't want to accidently trip over some legs or kick a head or ruin her trainers by stepping through some disgusting gooey mess.

"... Huh, I didn't even think about that," Stiles confessed, sounding a bit shocked but not even remotely worried.

"I'm not even surprised," Quinn commented. "And what if the person that perhaps murdered her is still here, stalking us right this very moment?" Making her point, she made a show of looking all around them with a look of terror. When the wind blew a cold wet breeze, she zipped up her black faux-leather jacket and folded her arms across her chest, hunching her shoulders a bit.

Stiles took another pause before answering, "Also something I didn't think about."

Oh wonderful. "Then, just know if we do come across such a person, I will trip you up and then run for my own life."

His head snapped to her as he made a noise of shock and hurt. "Well, it's nice to know who your true friends are."

"Don't pout, it makes me feel all bad inside. I mean, I wouldn't hold it against you if you did the same," Quinn grinned brightly. "Every man for himself, bud." Really though, that was a lie. Quinn didn't consider herself an altruistic kinda person but nor was she heartless- and she had a bit of temper when people she loved were threatened or antagonised. She'd nearly lunged at school-star Jackson Whittemore a considerable amount of times when he was a jackass to Stiles, and she'd even punched him in his pretty face when they were younger. If a crazy murderer did come along, she'd probably be dumb enough to attempt defending herself and Stiles, and end up as dead as the girl they were scrounging around to find.

The both of them grunting a bit from exertion as they pushed themselves up a short yet steep hill, Quinn hit the ground in surprise when Stiles pulled her down onto her belly, much the same as he was lying. Through the trees before them, the cops' flashlights illuminated their positions, as Stiles shut their torch off. Urging her with him, Stiles leapt to his feet and bounding off. Quinn followed suit, whisper-shouting as she did so, "_Towards_ the police? Stiles, I don't need another arrest under my belt. My resume is already full enough. " As it was, he instead led her just around the cops and their dogs. It didn't work so well, given he was caught less than a minute later. Because he was a bit faster than she was, Quinn had enough time to crouch on her knees behind a tree so as not to be snatched.

"Hang on, hang on," a man's voice called out, exasperation clear in the tone. Stiles' dad. "This little delinquent belongs to me. So, do you, uh... listen in to _all_ of my phone-calls?" Oh, Stiles was such a little hell raiser. When Stiles' denials were swiftly discarded, the Sheriff Questioned, "Now, where's your usual partner in crime?"

Partner in crime, Quinn grinned, keeping her head ducked; she quite liked that.

"Quinn?" Stiles stuttered, her brain rushing for an excuse. "No, Quinn- um, Quinn is at home; said, uh, tramping through the woods at night wasn't her idea of a _fun time_." Not so ready to believe him at his word, the Sheriff flashed his torch light around the woods that his sun had come from, calling out for her. Wisely or foolishly, either way Quinn stayed silent, and just listened as Stiles was led away, with his dad already preparing a lecture.

It was only when everything was once more quiet that Quinn realised she didn't exactly know her way back home. Hmm. Maybe she should've just confessed her crime and gotten a ride home. Eh, well, too late now. Resigned to retracing her steps, or at least attempting it, Quinn stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets and marched onward.

Not long after, she was sure she'd begun to hear noises. Snuffling sounds, leaves crunching dully, even a long drawn _howl_ once. Animal noises, not human. And then pounding; growing louder and faster and definitely incoming. Standing on the tips of her toes to survey the area- Quinn grunted as something large and muscled slammed into her, hard enough to bruise and throw her roughly to the ground. Covering her head with her arms, Quinn shut her eyes and panted out shallow quick breaths as the animals leapt over her fallen body. When they'd passed by and it was safe once more, she slowly picked herself up, dusted off her clothes and muttered, "That was a freaking stampede."

When the forest blurred out of focus before her eyes, Quinn realised she'd misplaced her glasses. They must've been knocked off when the herd of elk shoved by her. Given her eyesight was hardly even a mess of jumbled colours and shapes, she got down on her knees and ran her hands over the forest floor; pushing through wet leaves, fallen acorns, even the occasional pointy stone. But no eyewear.

Then she touched something squashy, slippery... and _still hot_.

Heart in her throat, she pulled back her hand and lifted close to her face. Her fingers had been coated in- _oh Gods_. Terrified, sickened, she raised her head- and found herself staring at the distorted sight of a torso, arms and head of a clearly deceased girl. Only her top half; everything from her waist down was _missing_, leaving behind a gory mess as clear evidence of foul play. And she'd _stuck her hand into it_. Quinn would later deny such a thing ever happening, but it was then that she _shrieked_, loud and short. Speedily launching herself backwards, she took a sharp inhale when her arms went from under her and the slip resulted in her taking a painful tumble down a steep hill. With her arms coming to shield her face, she only opened her eyes again once she'd stopped rolling, her head swimming with nausea.

She'd just risen to her feet when a noise reached her ears. Please don't let it be more deer. Only, it sounded more like a... _growl_. From behind her.

Swallowing hard, Quinn slowly turned, eyes dashing about at an incredible speed, searching every hazy parting between the trees, every foggy shadow. Nothing. Just when she thought to relax, when she faced forward again- her back slammed hard to the ground. Panicking now because _there was something on top of her_, and it was big and hairy and she could swear her heart would explode, Quinn thrashed, trying desperately to wiggle out from underneath the foul snarling beast. But it was strong and heavy and she screamed as sharp jagged canines sunk painfully into the flesh of her right shoulder. Lashing up with her knees, and discovering herself suddenly alone once more, Quinn's terror and agony drove her; sprinting through the forest, running faster than she'd ever moved before.

Somehow, even without her glasses, she managed to avoid slamming into any trees and finally stumbled out onto a road, dropping to her hands and knees. The adrenaline had faded from her bloodstream and now she just felt exhausted. And sore. Delicately peeling off her leather jacket, she found the sleeve of her top had been torn, completely bitten through. And decorating the revealed skin was a gruesome bite wound that, as she watched, leaked blood down her chest and back. Damn it.

* * *

So, a strange thing occurred the following morning. When Quinn climbed out of bed, she found her vision suddenly perfect. Ridiculously defined, better than she'd ever remembered having; must've been like a 20/10 or something even better. Now, she was no doctor, and her mother didn't specialise in vision, but she knew that eyes changing that fast, that vastly... was impossible. Yet, there it was. So, she shook it off and dressed for school; strapping on her clip-on roller skates to her trainers.

Quinn McCall was much of an unknown around Beacon Hills High, overlooked by many of her peers and even the teachers. Her grades were quite good, and she was pretty but when compared with the gorgeous popular genius Lydia Martin she faded into the background. She had simple tastes in clothes; short-sleeve t-shirts- sometimes with superhero symbols- and bootcut jeans over sensible trainers. No jewellery. The most fashionable thing she wore was her much beloved black faux-leather jacket. Her make-up was light, with dark defined eyeliner and mascara, and she painted her lips a glossy pink, but otherwise there was not much to know about Quinn.

Just the fact that all it took was the sight of her best friend to invoke a beautiful grin; particularly when she was given the chance to scare him out of his wits. Really, he was just asking for it, standing around with his back to her- a back that she leapt on, wrapping her arms around his neck and her knees at his waist in a piggyback ride. Stiles released a frankly _girly_ cry, nearly toppling under her weight. Joke was on her though, as her shoulder protested at the movement. She drew back with a pained groan. "Yeah, serves you right, jumping on me like that it's only right you pulled a muscle- not that you scared me," Stiles hurried to clarify.

"Please, you nearly wet yourself," Quinn grinned in triumph, the pain in her shoulder already reseeding. "And I didn't pull a muscle," she added, as she took off her roller-skate wheels and shoved them in her school backpack. "Last night, in the forest... something _attacked_ me. It bit me."

Stiles jerked dramatically in shock, "_Seriously_?... can I see?"

"Stiles, I'm not going to flash you in the middle of the school grounds," Quinn fervently declared, despite how she would never be labelled as _bashful_.

"Oh, come on, just-" glancing around to ensure no spectators, Stiles nearly pleaded with her, "just a peek."

His fascination with the macabre assured Quinn he would either become a mystery writer or perhaps a mortician. But she was unable to deny him for long. Sighing a little, Quinn shrugged her leather jacket free of one shoulder, before tugging aside the sleeve of her shirt and the strap of her black lace-trim bra. She'd taped up the wound with what rudimentary medical skills she'd picked up from her mother; a strip of gauze over her shoulder, taped at the front and back. And, just for Stiles, she briefly pulled back the wrap to show him the deep teeth marks.

Stiles whoa-d at the grossness, while she covered it again and fixed her clothes. "I couldn't see clearly cause I'd dropped my glasses, but I could swear it was wolf. Bloody thing came out of nowhere." Still, her brain could only conjure up fuzzy memories; like dark coarse fur and demonic luminescent red eyes. Perhaps it was a biologically engineered super-wolf.

"A _wolf_ bit you?" Stiles echoed, and Quinn frowned in befuddlement at the sceptic tone he used. They started for the school, as he decreed, "No, not a chance."

Quinn's brow furrowed, "Wolves were howling."

"No they weren't." Stiles stopped in front of her, herding Quinn to a stop. Her eyes were narrow and her lips were pursed slightly from her clenched teeth, and Stiles knew he was only one more fervent denial away from getting one serious pinch to his arm, so he hurried to explain. "California doesn't have wolves. Not for like sixty years. It wasn't a wolf."

Quinn crossed her arms with her best bitch-face on display, "Then it was Wile E Coyote or something else that howls at the moon, because I _did not_ imagine it." Then, with a victorious smirk, "Just like I didn't hallucinate the body."

"You found it?" Stiles exclaimed, nearly bouncing in his exultation. "What was it like?"

Waiting a lengthy pause, drawing out his tenseness, broadening his hopes for gore and the like, "It was _disgusting_," Quinn shot out. "It was half of a girl and I accidently stuck my hand in her. I still don't feel clean."

"That- that is freaking awesome," nothing dampened his spirits that's for sure. "I mean, this is seriously gonna be the best thing that's happened to this town since... since the birth of Lydia Martin." Said popular girl walked by, and Stiles turned to watch her go, while Quinn said a mental farewell to her best friend's pride. That girl didn't even know he existed, and she didn't deserve him anyway. "Hey Lydia, you look... like you're gonna ignore me." Dejected when she didn't even seem to hear him, Stiles actually stomped his foot, turning back to Quinn.

She grasped him by the shoulders, "Dude, the only way you ever get that girl is if you make first string and completely demolish Jackson. And let's be honest, he would kick your ass."

"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence, Quinn."

Slinging an arm around his shoulders, she started leading him to their first class, "Just keeping your ego on its toes. Sides, I would kick his ass for you anyway, and then everyone would laugh at him for getting beat by a girl and Lydia would dump him, leaving her open for you to sweep her off her feet. So if you look at it that way, I totally got your back."

"So, pretty much my love-life depends entirely upon you?"

Quinn scoffed, "_Duh_."

"When you've never had a boyfriend last two weeks?"

"It's not my fault they can't handle me. I need a _man_, or perhaps several- not _boys_ drooling over me."

"Wow, that's... really quite disturbing."

She grinned sharply, "Who knows, Stiles, maybe in a few years, you and I..."

"-Just stop right there," he insisted, actually shuddering a little at the thought. Honestly, there was no need to insult her. "I think I might puke."

* * *

After several classes and more information crammed into Quinn's brain than she cared to hold, she found herself with Stiles and all the other kids in their year in the school's gym room. It was the closest they got to a Physical Education class, mostly for the girls' benefits rather than the boys, as the girls weren't viable to play for the famed lacrosse team. After they'd been piled onto the bleachers for five minutes, wondering which game they would be playing, their economy teacher and lacrosse coach Finstock gruffly ordered them into two teams; girls vs. boys in a game of Dodgeball. Splitting off from Stiles, Quinn went to the other side of the basketball court as him. Having changed into shorts and shed her jacket, Quinn bounced up and down to get her blood flowing, her ponytail swung and bounced, while Finstock sent two of the girls to grab the balls from the storage locker.

She caught Stiles' eye and gave him two supporting thumbs up. He had Jackson and Danny on his team, while she had _Lydia_- it really was no Question if it would be the girls or the boys who won. Once each team had about ten balls each, the game began. During which, several strange things started happening to Quinn.

First, when Coach Finstock held his whistle to his mouth and blew, her head exploded. Not literally. The screech was like a banshee had let off a wail but a million times worse; Quinn was immediately debilitated, bending over at the waist with her hands secured over her ears, eyes squeezed tight. The first barrage was brutal, several people on each team were out before they'd even started; Stiles and Quinn were off to an okay start though, as in she just barely managed to twist away from a ball headed right for her chest and he actually succeeded in getting Mandy Young in the legs. As soon as her mind was clear of the shrill ringing, it was like her brain had been set to slow-motion. Everything still moved in normal speed but she felt... _faster_. Was this how Superman, or the Flash, felt when they went supersonic- and why the hell was it happening to her?

Not to say she was complaining. Far from it.

With this newfangled ability of speed and agility, she effortlessly dodged every ball, taking out multiple of the boys- and soon she was the only girl left on her team. She'd started out on a team of about twenty and the last girl to go was the new student, Allison Argent. Stiles had been taken out when he'd hesitated at knocking Lydia out of the running and been struck down himself by Julie Myers, who had in turn been taken out by Isaac Lahey. He was a player on the lacrosse team, and Quinn grinned in triumph as her shot hit him in the shoulder. Quinn was panting, not from exhaustion- strangely enough she was hardly even tired- but from all the energy and elation that was bubbling in her stomach and shooting through her veins. She'd never really thought of herself as the competitive type before but she was _on fire_, and she wanted to win this. She _would_ win this.

Only three boys remained. Jackson, Danny and a guy she thought was called Steve or Sam or something. Quinn caught a ball hurled by Danny, leapt away from the one from Jackson and used it to get rid of the S-named guy. He joined the rest of the students, back on the bleachers. They had naturally been cheering on Jackson- even the _girls_; traitors- as he was their perfect lacrosse star but now they were stunned by Quinn's army-of-one show and were marvelling, sitting on the edge of their seat. Stiles was the loudest, shouting above the cheering forces, and the crescendo was shattering Quinn's ears but somehow she maintain focus enough to catch Danny's throw and return it with even more power than he'd used.

Just the one left. Jackson Whittemore was going down. But he was ready, and furious. The whole game he'd watched his friends fall to this girl who'd been _nobody_ worth knowing that morning, and now everybody- his team mates, his _girlfriend_- was cheering her on; showering her with the praise that _he_ deserved. They were his, and he would get them back.

Both remaining teens stood tall, chests heaving with heavy pants. Their strong glares matched, rivalry swelling dark and acidic in their guts. Quinn was unarmed; there was only one ball left on her end of the court and she didn't see it given that it was a couple feet behind her. Jackson passed a ball between his hands, already smirking in triumph at his- in his mind- guaranteed victory. Her only chance was to catch his ball, but he doubted she had the capability. He'd known Quinn McCall for years; she was fierce and smart, but in the past PE classes was considerably unremarkable. She'd just been lucky this game, but that was done. He had this.

Using the hell of a throw he'd gotten from his stint of lacrosse stardom, Jackson pitched the ball straight at Quinn's gut, like a metal ball from a cannon. And then, just as she was a goner, the glorious competition lost dreadfully... she _jumped_. Straight into a perfectly executed graceful back handspring back tuck, landing in a crouch. A ball rested at her side, her hand lashed out- and Jackson hit the floor with a loud bang; his nose having taken the ridiculously powerful strike.

For a short moment, all had gone quiet with astonishment, before an almighty roar went out, echoing over the gym walls. Quinn stood straight, her heart pounding hard and thick in her chest and for one second her blue eyes flashed with a golden lustre. Then Stiles barrelled into her, surprising her when he picked her up and spun her around in his exultation. Lydia was over by Jackson, but even she was looking approvingly to Quinn, who found herself on the end of many congratulations and cheer.

"Hey," a girl's voice addressed her from behind, and Quinn and Stiles turned to face Allison. "You were amazing there. I'm Allison Argent."

Quinn shook her hand, grinning, "Quinn McCall."

* * *

After changing back into her usual outfit, and watching a lacrosse practice as Stiles sat on the sidelines, Quinn and her best mate deemed to go treading back into the forest that wasn't nearly so creepy and treacherous in the daylight; Stiles desperately wanted to see the body himself, and Quinn just wanted to find her specs. She might not seem to need them any longer but who knew how long that would last. Besides, she'd paid good money for them... well, her mother had. "This is completely bonkers, Stiles. I mean, first, I wake up this morning and I don't need my glasses; I'm not wearing contacts, I can just... see _perfectly_ now. And that flipping thing I did- I've never done any gymnastics in my entire life. I can even bloody well smell the mint-mojito gum in your pocket and I'm kinda freaking out!"

"Look, calm down, you're gonna start hyperventilating," Stiles remarked, reaching into his pocket. "I don't even have any mint-mojito..." he trailed off and Quinn sent him a knowing look as he pulled out a couple of strips from his pocket. "So all this started with a bite?"

"Yeah. Hey, maybe the _wolf_-" she shot him a pointed look, daring him to disagree, "-that bit me was radioactive. And now I'm Supergirl. Though, I'm not blonde. Maybe more like Catwoman."

Stiles, as much a superhero fan as she, nodded along, "That would be cool. But I actually think I've heard of this before." At her curious urging, he clarified, "It's a special kind of infection. I mean, it's the worse. But it only strikes once a month, on the night of the full moon... _Lycanthropy_."

"Like _werewolves_?" Quinn grinned, snickering away as Stiles let out a mock howl. She playfully bashed her shoulder into him, remarking, "So, what, I get two separate times of the month? Gods, let's hope they don't clash. I reckon there's nothing quite like a PMS-ing werewolf chick. Oh, maybe, the wolf gene makes me immortal- now _that_ would be stupendous. I think I would enjoy being an eternal hottie." While Stiles made a crack about melting down silver, Quinn stopped and looked around. This looked like the place. "This is it. I mean, it was a lot blurrier and darker but..."

"Well, maybe the killer moved the body," Stiles suggested. Quinn hummed, hands on her hips as she surveyed the area. "Hey, Quinn- _Quinn_!"

Lifting an eyebrow, she smiled, "What's wrong, did you see the Big Bad Wolf that jumped me?" When he jerked his head at something over her shoulder, Quinn turned- and her breath promptly stalled, as she swore her heart jolted. Holy Gods in Heaven. Every night from that moment on, she swore she would praise the Gods for creating such an illegally gorgeous man. With her newly cleared vision, even from the distance between them, Quinn could easily make out his intense green eyes, sharp cheekbones, fantastic dark hair, and a totally biteable jaw line with some seriously sexy scruff. Bad boy hotness and ruggedly handsome had just been embodied. "Did you need something?" she called out to the mystery man, wearing a sweet smile, and Stiles shot her a look questioning her sanity; that gorgeous stranger could be the killer.

Tramping through the foliage, he demanded, "What are you doing here? Huh?" he grunted when they didn't answer. Hmm, he was quite the charmer too. "This is private property."

"Uh, sorry, man," Stiles stumbled out, clearly intimidated. "We didn't know."

"You should put a sign up," Quinn suggested, and his stare darkened in response, if that were possible, as he caught on to her subtle sass. She waggled a finger to indicate the surrounding area, "Maybe build a picket fence. Look, we were just looking for something, it doesn't even matter. We won't bother you again." Not to say she wouldn't miss him. That was one face Quinn could stare at for eternity without tiring. Just when she meant to grab Stiles and leave, the mystery man tossed something through the air to her. Before the wolf-bite it probably would've bounced uselessly off her fingers and fallen to the ground, but as it was she easily snatched it from the air. Laying in her palm were her glasses, not even scratched. When she looked back up, the leather-clad bloke was walking away. "Thank you!" she called out, not expecting an acknowledgement- and not getting one.

"Quinn," Stiles knocked her arm, hissing out, "that was Derek Hale." At her blank look, he rolled his eyes, "Course you don't remember him; memory like a sieve, you have. He's only a couple years older than you. His family all burned to death in a fire, like, ten years ago. He skipped town immediately after." Damn it, now she felt guilty. No longer able to see him, Quinn still stared the way Derek Hale had vanished; wondering why he was back, if she'd ever see him again- and why the heck she hadn't recognised him or his name.

* * *

Quinn stared at the large sharp kitchen knife clasped limply in her hand, aware of just how certifiably insane she was. It was now night, and she was manning the veterinary clinic because her boss Deaton was out. Thing is, when she'd tried to feed the cats, they'd all hissed viciously and clawed out for her as she passed them; but, also, when she'd went to change the bandages on her shoulder... she'd found that her wound had vanished. Bites that deep took ages to heal and they usually left a scar- she'd bitten by quite a few dogs during her vet career- which was added to her ever growing list of freaky occurrences. Quinn was convinced that her body had _healed_ the gash, and now she wanted to know the limits of such a power. Hence the knife.

Telling herself this was not an act of grief or self-loathing but relentless curiosity, she dragged the tip of the blade across the soft pad of her left index finger, slicing open just a tiny itchy scratch. Prepared to just sit there and stare until it miraculously closed up, Quinn was surprised by a frantic knocking on the door. At this late hour, it couldn't be anything good. It was, in fact, Allison Argent who'd somehow managed to hit a dog with her car during her first week in Beacon Hills. It was only after the poor girl was calmed and the animal was fixed up, that Quinn finally checked her finger- and found no injury.

* * *

By the next morning, whether she would actually shift into a freaking wolf on the full moon that night was irrelevant, but the extent of her magical regenerative power was at the forefront of her mind. Since the cut finger, she'd scored a long painful gash down her arm and watched the skin sew itself back together, and she'd even taken a lighter to her palm with the burn lasting hardly a minute. But it was time for something seriously more drastic. So, just as the sun began to glow with dawn light, she rode her bike over to the school grounds and scaled the brick walls with her recent strength and flexibility; stopping only when she'd reached the roof. Standing at the edge, staring down at the dizzying sight of the ground so far below her, Quinn sucked up all of her courage so to turn away, put her arms out of either side of her, and closed her eyes- and fell backwards.

... except the crushing agony of multiple bones snapping didn't occur, and only a soft puff of air escaped her as she felt someone- _catch_ her? Her arm having fallen over a man's broad shoulders, his arms coiled securely under her knees and across her back, she opened her eyes to find Derek Hale's gorgeous if stern face mere inches from her own. "What are you doing, McCall?" he questioned in what was apparently his constant gruff tone, as though you were incessantly grating on his severely limited patience- or just unbearably incompetent.

"Uh..." she faltered for words; not only struck speechless with his rugged handsomeness, nor the fact that he knew her name when they'd never even been introduced, but aware she could hardly tell him she might be a werewolf or quite possibly a superhero. Tall, dark and mysterious as he was, she wasn't about to risk him selling her out to the nuthouse- or, worse, _her mother_. "... would you believe committing suicide?"

"No." Why not? It seemed like a perfectly sensible conclusion to come to when you witnessed someone throwing themselves off of a building. Derek continued calmly with, "it looked more like you were testing the boundaries of your werewolf healing," and Quinn just about swallowed her own tongue at the confirmation of her shift in race. How the bloody hell did he- was he a...? And, most importantly, was the he one that bit her that night. While she tried to make her words work again, Derek set her back on her feet.

When he started walking away, she hurried to catch up, spitting out the first thing that jumped to mind, "So, werewolves seriously exist- just like that? And I magically am one. What the hell can I do to stop it? _Can_ I stop it, reverse the process somehow?"

"You really want to?" He didn't even look at her when he answered her quick succession of questions with a question of his own. "This isn't some cheap voodoo curse, it's a _gift_. All of your senses are heightened; you're strong enough to lift a car over your head, you can move faster than any normal person could ever hope, you already know that you'll heal the most grievous of injuries. You've been given something that most people would kill for. Soon, you're going to _want it_."

So she should be _thankful_? "Hey, stop," Quinn demanded, lashing out with a hand to grab a hold of his frankly ridiculously muscled arm, yanking him to a halt. His stare became sinister, flashing to where she was still touching him. She could swear he actually started to growl in his chest. But she couldn't care less; he did this to her, he owed her some damn answers. "I just wanna know if I'm gonna _die_ for it. All these flashy new powers, but you didn't mention the price-tag."

"Stay away from tall buildings, you should be fine," he muttered, his intense glare locked on her own.

Quinn blinked, dropping his arm in surprise. Did dark and broody just make a funny? "Bloody hell, that was almost a joke. Alert the media. Or not, since we're werewolves; all top secret and hush-hush. Now that I'm assured I'm not _in_ danger, am I _the_ danger?" Given his expression, Derek seemed to find all of her questions endlessly infuriating, so she tried to explain the reason she wouldn't shut up. She got the impression that an irate Derek was an unhelpful Derek. "Look, I can't hurt Stiles or my mom, okay- they're all I have."

"What about Allison Argent?" he bitterly shot out before he could stop himself. What? Quinn furrowed her brow- what did she have to do with this? She'd only known Allison for _one day_, spoken to her all of twice. Before she could question him, Derek went on, "You can learn to control it. But for that, you're gonna need me. We're in this together now, McCall." Maybe, coming from him, it shouldn't have comforted her as much as it did. But he was the closest thing to an expert she was gonna get, and the relief at not being alone in this- Stiles not withstanding given he wasn't about to start howling at the moon or scratching at fleas with her back paw alongside her- was indescribable.

* * *

In a couple of hours, the school opened and Quinn immediately set out to find Allison. She'd seemed like a kind girl and it wouldn't hurt to have a girl friend, but what she really wanted to know was Derek's significance with her. For him to speak her name, with such vehemence at that, was suddenly of great interest to Quinn. "Hey, Allison," she finally caught her in the school corridor. They exchanged a smile, "I figured that, since you're new to the Beacon Hills scene, a tour guide might be appreciated. I know you have Lydia, but given she's a bit _overbearing_ and seriously preoccupied with her boyfriend- I thought I would just _offer_ you my, ah, allegiance."

"I would like that," Allison confessed, ducking her head, adorably bashful. "It's not easy being the new girl and every little helps, right?"

Quinn grinned, "Fantastic. Well, how about we start by going together to that party tonight?"

"Oh, uh..." she stuttered in response, abruptly awkward. Quinn managed to hold a poker-face but replayed her words over in her mind, trying to suss out what she'd said wrong. "Like a- like a _date_?"

"What?" Quinn blurted out, unable to hold it in. Then she began to laugh, giggle away at the hilarity and relief she hadn't accidentally offend Allison, "No, no, honey, no. Just as friends, I swear. I mean, you're a gorgeous girl and a real catch and I'm sure some girls are just lining up but I don't swing that way. Boys all the way. Well, men- I kind of have a thing for older guys. Not like sixty but, you know, around twenty odd. What can I say? I like my men with _experience_."

Allison laughed at her wicked grin, "Yeah, good, me- me too. Boys. But, uh... twenty-something? I mean, you're only sixteen."

"I'm _eighteen_ actually," Quinn admitted, smiling at Allison's responding expression that told how taken aback she was. "I've had to repeat a couple years," she explained, before elaborating on how that sounded. "Not that I'm stupid or anything- not that repeating a year has to mean that you're an idiot- it's just that I didn't do any of my exams cause I didn't want to graduate before Stiles."

"So you two are really close then?" Damn straight. There were only four seriously important people to Quinn- Stiles, her mother, his dad and Deaton. But she wasn't _in love_ with Stiles- she'd thought that she might be when she was younger but... besides, he wasn't in love with her either anyway; he'd had a dire slobbery puppy-love thing for Lydia since they were children. "Can I let you in on a secret?"

Quinn smiled playfully, "Isn't that what friends do?"

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Allison paused for a short moment before blurting, "I'm gonna be seventeen in a few weeks. I had to redo a year as well, cause of all my family's travelling."

Before any reply could be made, Stiles came running over, barging right into Quinn. Briefly thrown off balance, she managed to steady the both of them before they fell to the ground. "Thanks," he quickly said, breathless. "Listen, Quinn, you gotta know this- Allison, _hey_..." he suddenly trailed off uncomfortably, as he abruptly noticed her presence. "What- what's up with you? You look great today," he rambled off. "Not that you don't look great every day, not that I've really stared, not that you're not worth staring at- I, ah, I'll just shut up now."

"Thank, Stiles," Allison smiled sweetly, and he got this dumb look on his face like _holy crap, dude, she knows my name_. Getting the feeling he wanted to speak with Quinn in privacy- and honestly you'd have to be a blind deaf simpleton to be unaware- she said, "Well, I'd better go. Meet you at the party tonight, then?" she asked Quinn, just to solidify it.

Quinn smiled and nodded, and turned back to Stiles as Allison walked off and he metaphorically exploded at her, "You're going out? _Tonight_!? Dude, the full moon is tonight. Listen, I overheard my dad on the phone. The fibre analysis came back from the lab in L.A. They found animal hairs on the body in the woods!" When she opened her mouth to interrupt, to tell him about her talk with Derek, he speedily continued, leaving no room for her to speak. "_Wolf_ hairs! I was up all night, reading; websites, books, all kinds of lore- look at this," he tore some papers from his back and thrust them under her nose; the stench of stale air and male deodorant caught her by surprise, made her cough. The papers were all crumpled in the corners from where he'd haphazardly shoved them in his bag in his haste, and creepy illustrations of wolf-men and moon cycles were inked across the front.

"Have you been chugging the Adderall again?" she asked when he briefly paused to take a desperately needed breath, cautious when faced with his lunacy and conspiracies. Still, she took the parchments and scanned through them, both to appease him at least slightly and to satisfy her own curiosity.

His eyes were wide, a little bloodshot, and his body shook slightly from sleep-deprivation and the amount of caffeine and energy drinks consumed. "A bit- okay, a lot. But, it was worth it, trust me. The whole Lycanthropy thing; not a joke anymore. The bite, the wolf in the woods- do you know what the full moon is gonna do to you?" He didn't want her to answer and, knowing this, she stayed quiet, didn't offer one. She just waited patiently for his manic behaviour to stop. "It's gonna make you turn, but not just _physically_ change... it'll warp your mind, raise your heart-rate until you're blind to everything but your bloodlust. You're gonna want to kill. You're _cursed_, Quinn."

Derek had said it _wasn't_ a curse, that she was lucky and... that she would _want it_. Not that she would want to _kill_. He'd forgotten to mention that part, the bastard. What was his game- did he want her to go wacko and kill somebody, just for kicks? If so, who; Allison, maybe he name-dropped her on purpose? God, she was so confused. Derek might've been the prima werewolf but Stiles had been her best friend since kindergarten and what he was saying was seriously upping the ante.

"Stiles, calm down, okay? _Calm_." Quinn told both him and herself, grabbed a hold of his shoulders, the papers that were in her grasp uncaringly dropped to the ground. "It'll be fine. I know it will."

"You-" he choked a little, took a deep breath and looked at her like _oh, yeah, you're totally fine. It's not like you're gonna turn into an unstoppable killing machine with furry hind legs and fangs the size of swords, no big deal._ "Okay, okay, everything's good," he agreed, unflinchingly sedate- before, "... are you freaking kidding me?! You're at least not going to the party, right? Just call Allison up, tell to find herself another buddy to go with- like Lydia."

She shook her head, eyes glazed and lips pursed a little in thought, "No, no, I'm still going." Then, she grinned brightly, "and you're coming with."

"What?!" he asked, stunned, as she looped her arm through his and started for class. The school bell had rung loudly, echoing in her ears and causing an instant migraine. The papers, fallen and forgotten, would later be discovered by none other than Jackson Whittemore, who would blow them off as ridiculousness- for now at least. "Oh, oh, I get it," Stiles sighed as he caught on. "I'm your werewolf gauge. Warn you if you start to snarl and howl, and risk getting my guts slit open."

Quinn swallowed hard against the bile at just the thought. She knew the lore, she was quite the fan of the mystical and all things supernatural, but every part of her mind, body and spirit would rally against the belief that a werewolf would turn on their best friend in their darkest and most primal moment. The idea that she could became such a mindless, malicious beast that she could hunt, harm... _kill_ Stiles- she would cause her own demise in a second, commit any unforgivable act of violence against others, anything to prevent that. _Anything_.

"Ah, you know I'd never do that," she managed a convincing smile, shielding herself from those dark thoughts. "Too much of a mess to clean up."

* * *

True to her word, that night when Quinn went home, she informed her mother she would be going out and promptly jogged up to her room to get ready. She was determined to discover Derek's want with Allison, if only to protect the girl if need be. She curled her hair, applied the appropriate makeup and dressed. She pulled on an Alice + Olivia Bethany Sequined Bustier Dress, some elegant silver heels with an ankle strap, and her premium black faux-leather jacket. If it wasn't against the laws of nature and utterly illogical, she would've already wed that jacket, she loved it so much.

"Oh, somebody looks pretty," Quinn turned to find her mother leaning against her doorway. Smiling, Quinn gave a teasing 360 twirl and gave a smug _I know_ look. "You're all dressed up. But for who, I wonder," Melissa McCall tried not to marvel too visibly at just how fast her daughter had grown. Already eighteen and aging more every moment she spent staring. "_Stiles_, perhaps?"

Fiddling with the simple silver oval locket that just refused to clip, Quinn grinned wickedly, "Oh, I never have to dress up for him. In fact, it's profitable for my clothes if I don't, and I wish to keep them whole. I swear that boy is a _stallion_ in the sack-"

"-Ew, ew, stop," Melissa grimaced, covering her ears with her hands against such soiling words. She knew Quinn was only joking, as the two were only close mates, and there was the fact Quinn was still a virgin- yes, a mother always knew, she in particular. "TMI. Sorry I asked. What are you doing, though?" Finally, she moved over to assist her hopeless daughter with her necklace. In her capable medical fingers, the rings clasped together effortlessly. She smoothed her daughter's hair away from her beautiful face.

Quinn straightened her own dress around her legs, answering honestly, "I'm just going to a party with friends."

"_Friends_?" her mother fixed her with a shocked look. "As in _plural_?"

She feigned stunned hurt in response, "I can be friendly... if the situation really calls for it." Which wasn't often. Quinn could be considered a bit of a- pun intended- lone wolf, or at least one that enjoyed a small pack. She'd been close to the beautiful genius Lydia once, and the numbskull jock Jackson too- when they'd been children, and there was no such things as cliques and popularity. Just other kids around your age that you were able to build Lego castles with. By the time she was fifteen, all she'd required was the thirteen-year-old Stiles and their parents to keep her company.

"Yeah, if the people you're spending time with are _fictional_." Also true, that Quinn possessed a rather unhealthy attachment to the fictional characters in the TV series and films and games and books that she enjoyed. But, hey, they were certainly more likable than most of the real people she went to school with.

The doorbell rang then, and Melissa spoke, sounding fond, amused and exasperated all at the same time- it was a mother's specialty, "Well, that'll be your pumpkin carriage and mouse driver. I'll go let him in, shall I?" Quinn and Stiles had agreed they would take his car and leave the one she shared with her mom at her house, both for a quick getaway if she starts to grow a tail and because his little jeep was a piece of scrap when compared to the McCall's sleek car. And how to explain wolf claw marks scratching the paintjob to her mother? Quinn smiled as she heard her mother threaten Stiles with all sorts of imaginative persecutions should he fail to bring her daughter home by midnight.

Stiles nearly choked on thin air when he caught sight of Quinn gracefully descending the staircase. With her hair twisted into soft curls and the front pulled back from her face, and the soft skin of her bare legs peeking out from the hem of the dress, she looked... "pretty," he mumbled, before making a conscious decision to pick his mouth up off the floor. "You look lovely," he coughed, embarrassed.

"It isn't a date, Stiles," Quinn smiled as she reached him. "You don't have to worry about me marking down judgements in my little black book."

His relief was palpable. "Oh, thank God." How did he ever hope to get a girl like Lydia Martin with an attitude like that? "So, shall we...?" he gestured to the door- and the both of them blinked, blinded for a moment, as a camera flashed at their side. Quinn shot her mother a _seriously?_ look. Melissa only smiled and told them to have a good time before shuffling them out of the house, probably planning to have a 'secret' Pretty Little Liars marathon with ice cream and beer.

Allison was already at the party when they arrived, she must've gotten dropped off by one of her parents. She smiled, looking a little flustered, probably from Lydia introducing her to more handsome and available men than she could remember the names of, and the three of them went to grab a drink. Strictly non-alcoholic, given that Allison was not willing to risk her controlling parents discovering her drinking underage, and Quinn and Stiles were both desperate to keep their minds sharp and unhindered.

Stiles kept nervously glancing up at the moon in the dark sky, so Quinn made an effort to constantly involve him in the conversation. If she hadn't turned yet, she probably wouldn't; and she still wanted to know Derek's deal with Allison. Given there was clearly something he was keeping secret- probably _several_ crucial things- Quinn didn't want to risk Allison's safety by leaving her unattended with wolf-man running amok.

_Speak of the devil and he shall appear_, fluttered briefly through Quinn's mind, as she turned her head towards a dog's furious snarling- and stared straight into the gaze of Derek Hale that was intent upon her. Her chest tightened as her lungs failed to work, and her fingers unconsciously curled into tight fists. Had he followed her, or Allison? He was toying with her, that must be it. Tugging her strings, trying to puppeteer her into wolfing out. Well, it was working. Her breaths escaped her in frantic pants, as resentment and fright and, admittedly, no small amount of puzzling desire amped up her heart; sending it pounding and speeding, hidden behind her ribcage.

Stumbling against Stiles' side, she managed to snarl out a quiet, "We have to go, now," in his ear. Immediately catching her drift, because he'd been anxiously predicting it all day, he took her by the waist with one hand, taking the empty plastic cup from her grip with the other. He made some excuse to Allison about Quinn being tipsy, but Quinn couldn't hear because all she could focus on was the thump of Stiles' pulse so close she could taste it- _No, stop thinking_!

As she watched Stiles lead Quinn back to his car, Allison reached out or the cup Quinn had been drinking from; lifting it to her face and taking a curious whiff. A fruity smell wafted up, but there was no sting of alcohol. Tipsy? When she realised the pads of her fingers were slightly sticking, she turned the cup- nearly dropping it in shock when she saw the deep punctures marring the plastic. It was like Quinn had gripped it hard enough that her fingernails had split right through the materiel. No way.

* * *

There was nothing quite like turning into a werewolf.

Stiles had leapt into the driver's seat as soon as Quinn was secured in the passenger, not at all certain where they were headed, but not paying the road enough mind to confirm a destination. Instead, his attention was focused wholly on Quinn's violently convulsing form beside him. She'd desperately yanked off her jacket and shoes as soon as she was seated, and now shrivelled into a frightened trembling ball. Every couple seconds, she released a cry, and her hands were clawing at her hair, tangling in the now-wild locks and trying desperately to block out her surroundings.

Every microscopic sound was a cacophony of crashes and screeches in her ears, she was experiences the nastiest hangover migraine in all history, and her gums were burning as if something was trying to claw out of her teeth. Her neck and forehead ran damp with terrified, nervous sweating. She felt itchy and angry and scared and like she was being ripped to pieces, from all sides, all at once. She was losing her freaking mind!

Her hand lashed out, trying to find hold of an anchor, something to focus on, anything that could push back against the full moon's effect on her psyche. She latched onto Stiles, and the relief was near instantaneous; he would help her, she didn't have to be alone, they could do this together... and then his surprised, _pained_ yelp blared in her sensitive ear drums. Gasping, her perfect vision swelled and blurred with panicked tears as they locked onto the sight of _her claws_ digging into Stiles' shoulder, his shirt torn and his skin split and spilling blood.

Yanking back, withdrawing, throwing herself against the passenger door, not only because she'd hurt him but because there was still a dark, demented part of her that _revelled_ in the sight, _the_ _smell_, of his haemoglobin- she pleaded in a desperate cry, "Pull over. Stiles, I need out of this car." Something ferocious and bestial was clawing out of her, and she couldn't control it, and she was scared and she was only going to get worse and she couldn't stop thinking about _tearing Stiles' throat out_. At first, Stiles shook his head, determined that they could get through this... but then he caught sight of her frenzied golden eyes and the fangs protruding, and reconsidered. Yanking the wheel to the side, they bumped to a stop as a tyre bashed the curb. And in the next moment, Stiles found himself alone in the car.

* * *

Where only a few minutes before, Quinn had been so terrified and irate, sprinting through the forest with bare feet, her legs unhindered by her dress, and the wind whipping at her hair and the nude skin of her arms felt... _free_. Her sight had gone dark, all surroundings painted with a curious crimson fog, yet she could see perfectly. Her senses, her wolf's instincts, drove her to twist around trees, bound over roots and thick sticks; trying desperately to escape the clutches of the hideous overwhelm of sensation from before. But she didn't perceive the pursuing werewolf until after he'd already caught her.

Quinn's breathing faltered as something grabbed her by the waist, effortlessly wrestling her until her back hit a tree. Even inexperienced as she was with her new werewolf faculties, Derek Hale's face was easily distinguishable before her eyes. She exposed her sharp fangs at him, as every one of her sufferings came rushing back to her at the sight of him. "You did this to me!" she roared, lashing out at him with a talon hand.

He caught and restrained her wrist, immediately shushed her and she snarled at him for it, before his following words struck her silent, "Too late. They're already here." They, who? "_Run_."

Run?

When Derek took his own advice, releasing her and sprinting off deeper into the woods, she did too. Bolting across wet leaves, ignoring the occasional stone that impaled the skin of her toes and soles, Quinn ducked and swallowed a yelp when something exploded to her left, blinding her left eye with an unexpected flash of light. Resigned to just keep moving, lacking depth perception or not, she skidded through a puddle- and screamed, hitting the ground in a roll and ending in a crouch... staring down at the metal tip of a crossbow bolt poking out from her gut just above her navel.

On her hands and knees, she risked a glance over her shoulder, her hair shielding her face from her attackers. They'd _shot_ her, and the spreading pain only adding to her acidic ire. There were three of them, the middle-aged man in front clearly leading, his hands coiled around the crossbow he'd incapacitated her with. "Take her," he spoke, low and uncaring.

Bastard. Roaring at the men an animalistic manner, Quinn then felt a sharp grin crawl upon her as one of the men was suddenly violently thrown through the air. Derek. While the second guy went the way of the first, Quinn quickly and agonisingly ripped the bolt from her stomach with a snarl muffled by her hand, as the leader of the men turned his back to her. In his hand was now a gun, his eyes scanning the area for any sight of the attacking werewolf. Stunned by the fury that raged over her at just the thought of the shot that would undoubtedly rip through her ears- and possibly Derek's body- Quinn unthinkingly raced forward.

Before realising what an idiotic reaction this was, she'd already barrelled right into the guy, knocking them both to the ground. Then a hand grabbed the cool skin of her forearm.

Derek yanked her to her feet and together they booked it from the scene. They must've run for a couple of minutes before stopping. The anguish still determinedly gnawing at Quinn's gut, she collapsed against back against a tree trunk and exhaled deeply in exhaustion, relief and pain. "Those were hunters," Derek explained before she could ask. "The kind that have been hunting us for centuries. The one that you _tackled_," his sharp tone and the look he shot her spoke volumes of how much of a mental patient he thought she was, "is Chris Argent."

"Is in, Allison...?" Quinn realised. That was it? Her family was a gang of werewolf hunting jackasses? Ah, damn. This is why she shouldn't make new friends. Because naturally their family would turn out to be nut jobs that want her dead.

Derek nodded, "Her father."

She should've probably been pissed at Derek given it was his bite that was the reason she'd just been impaled. He'd also failed to give any mention to the fact she was gonna become a psychotic beast on the full moon, leading to how he was indirectly responsible for her attacking Stiles. But, as she stared up at him, all that came to mind was... "you saved me back there. Thank you." She wasn't so deluded as to believe that had he not dealt with those two hunters she would've been able to get away. Three against one, and she'd never done a single martial arts class in her life. Most certainly not _The Pros and Cons of Werewolf Skirmishing_.

"I shouldn't have had to, McLoudmouth," he said, the slightest fraction of a smirk coiling at the sides of his mouth, clearing enjoying her annoyance with him as she glared. Hilarious. She took it back, this guy is as much an ass as he is sexy- and there is no logical way that should've made him even more appealing to her. But it did. _Damn it_. And then- _surprise, surprise_- his expression shifted into seriousness again. "The party tonight was a risk. Next time you get hyped up, try _harder_ not to eat anyone."

With her irritation bubbling in her belly, Quinn stood up straight, and found her fangs were still poking at her lips. She could only assume the glowing eyes she'd seen in Stiles' car mirror were still there too. Derek Hale's presence effected her so much it was impossible to revert back into a human again, it would seem. "Who's fault is that?" she scowled, petulant. "Just because you say I can control it, doesn't make me magically able to. Whilst on that note, screw you very much for not mentioning that I'd want to feast on a raw steak of Stiles."

"You're _not_ my responsibility," Derek argued heatedly, as they unconsciously got in each other's faces. She was several inches shorter than him, leaving the war of heights sort of one-sided. "Every little crisis that happens to you isn't my fault. I don't have to offer you my help, but against my better judgement- I am. And you need it."

"Then _help me already_," Quinn howled, infuriated way past diplomacy or calm discussion. He was right. She did need his help, because otherwise she might actually kill Stiles next time and she _couldn't_ risk that again, she wouldn't. This was just one full moon, there was gonna be another next month and one after that- and don't think she failed to notice how rational Derek was, seemingly unaffected by the lunar cycle. "Because all you've done is stand there and preach, and I need some serious guidance... _please_."

Derek stared at her for a moment, dark and stoic. He was ridiculously difficult to get a read on. But then, she'd only known him for about a day and knew next to nothing about him, so it would actually be strange if she _could_ accurately presume his considerations. "...Okay," he said finally, and she quirked an eyebrow.

"Okay," she echoed. She picked at the bloodstained hole in her dress and wiggled her cold, bare toes. Then she smiled, feeling suddenly lighter. She could do this. And with her relief, came a better attitude. "Well, I'd best mosey off. Now that I don't feel the need to murder and devour defenceless creatures, I should find Stiles. Apologise for nearly tearing his head off. See you later," she inclined her head to him before turning away and walking off, calling over her shoulder, "Try not to miss me too much in the meantime."

Quinn thought she heard him mutter something about "no danger of that," but he was gone when she glanced back .

* * *

Quinn gnawed her lips raw- which was okay because they healed just as fast as she could chew- holding in her apologises as she patched up Stiles' shoulder. She'd found him anxiously pacing outside her house, and drove him to the veterinary clinic amidst her endless mutterings of guilt and regret and pleas for absolution. Not that his forgiveness would appease her blame. It'd gotten so ridiculous that Stiles had physically had to slap his hand over her mouth just to shut her up and tell her he wasn't angry. "Really, it doesn't even hurt anymore," he'd tried to fib, but his lies had always been terrible and the pained grimace pathetically masquerading as a smile didn't fool anyone, least of all her.

"How are we going to explain this to your dad?" she asked as she finished the stitches and secured a large square of gauze over the deep claw punctures. Each drip of blood, every flinch of pain flicking across Stiles' face was an offense caused by her... she couldn't wait until the wounds closed up.

"Oh, you mean on those special family moments where he sees me shirtless- then?" She shot him an amused reproaching look, and he shrugged, then winced and she artfully masked her misery. "We'll just say it was a lacrosse related injury; like I fell off the bench or something. Or, you know, we could just... tell him the truth, and then your mom, and then the four of us revel in the awesomeness of the fact that you're a frickin_ werewolf_." That time, she expression she wore screamed _and the fact that I nearly ripped your arm off_. "Okay, bad idea," he concurred. "Hey, we'll get through this. Come on, if I have to, I'll chain you up myself on full moon nights and feed you live mice. I had a boa once. I could do it."

Hopping up beside him onto the examination table, and feeling the cold metal chill her palms, Quinn smirked, teasingly seductive, purring, "Well, I liked your thinking right up until the part with the all-you-can-eat mice buffet."

"Down girl," Stiles joked, as though talking to a dog. Which, in a way, he was. She could be a real _bitch_.

* * *

Having been up for nearly a full twenty-four hours, both Quinn and Stiles were only managing to stay on their feet by leaning on each other. Damn full moons. Then there was the fact that Quinn required enough self-awareness so she could duck in behind a column or even a severely freaked out student every time she spotted Allison. Stiles was not at all helpful when she informed him about the Argent Hunter Family titbit. "Her dad?" he repeated dumbly. Quinn only nodded. "Shot you-" another nod, "-with a crossbow... her _father_?"

"No, Stiles, her frickin Fairy Godmother," Quinn groaned. "Yeah, her daddy, senior psychopath. But I don't think he would recognise me if he ever saw me, so there's at least that."

Stiles relaxed at the silver lining, "Good, good. So he won't be coming to school today with intentions of killing you horribly."

Oh great, he had to say the K-word, didn't he. Before the bite, Quinn had tried to never think of her inevitable demise, but since then it was all she could think about. Her own death, Stiles' death, that forest girl's death, the death of some random pedestrian who just happens to be out on a full moon. The more she thought about it, played it over in her head- the dark scarlet vision marred infinitely worse with thick lashes of blood, the taste of another's haemoglobin dripping from her jaws, the feel of skin stretching and tearing until finally it ripped open from the force of her inhuman strength... Gods, she was gonna be sick. Correction: she was going to _turn_ and then be sick. As her pulse spiked and sped faster and harder and echoed thickly in her ears until it was all she could hear, her vision blurred and red seeped into her sight, pressure built in her head like someone was trying desperately to squeeze her brain out her ears.

Quinn bent forward at the waist, feeling the darkness claw at her limited and receding consciousness- she felt a hand touching her, and she snarled at the intense sensation of every single pore under threat. Still, after a brief hesitation in the face of her vicious ire, the hands herded her back through a door before latching onto her face. Like an animal under attack, Quinn lashed out, grabbing a crushing grip on the easily breakable wrists, snapping her teeth. By then, her mind had been warped, and she couldn't think past _fight, bite, hunt, __**kill**_.

"...Q-Quinn," she stalled as a strong yet somewhat pained voice broke through the haze of bloodlust and fury and animalistic nature. She knew that voice... "Focus. Quinn, it's me. It's Stiles, your buddy, your ole pal." Stiles, _Stiles_, **_Stiles_**- the name resonated through her eardrums, echoing, clearing away the shadowy fog. Her vision was the final to return- and her first sight was her fingers clamped disgustingly tight around her best friend's wrists.

She released him immediately, and leapt back, grunting as her back hit a metal locker and a loud clang-bang burst her head. Stiles' must've herded her into the boys' locker room given it would be vacant for at least another hour. Gods. Her actions were barely more just a hazy mess in her brain, but she could guess easily enough. Sliding down the locker, resting on her ass with her knees pulled tight to her chest, consumed by her failures and regrets, Quinn sighed miserably.

She lowered her face to bury it in her knees, and covered her head with her arms. This was hopeless. She'd hurt Stiles- _again_. She needed help. She needed Derek's help. Stiles had been able to bring her back, to calm her and anchor her back to reality, but she never should've been a danger to him in the first place. "I'm sorry," she muttered morosely, "I know you don't wanna hear it, but I am. I'm so sorry. I _will_ learn to control this. I _will_ get better. I promise."

"I know you will," Stiles encouraged, settling down beside her. Quinn sighed again as she leaned her head on his shoulder. "You're okay."

* * *

When school ended and Stiles went to a lacrosse practice he wouldn't actually be participating in, Quinn once again clambered up the school building and surveyed the view she could see of her hometown. She'd _never_ felt the desire to leave Beacon Hills, the lack of wanderlust probably stemming from and enhanced by the fact that she never had left. During her parents' messy divorce, her father had tried to gain custody before eventually dropping the suit. Quinn hadn't said it to his face but... she hadn't wanted to go with him. She'd wanted to stay with her mother and Stiles, in her childhood house. Uprooting from her home and the goodbyes would've felt like her own personal horror flick. Just the thought unsettled and thoroughly threatened her composure.

If she'd left with him to... wherever the hell he was nowadays, she never would've been bitten by Derek in the woods, she wouldn't wolf out whenever she got severely scared or angry, nor always be a threat to those she loved. But she probably would've been miserable. And she _wasn't_; there in Beacon Hills, on the present day, she was content with her life- happy actually.

"Tell me you're not going to jump again," spoke a deep voice from behind her. A voice that was quickly becoming familiar. "I won't catch you this time."

Quinn turned with a gorgeous grin. Derek Hale stood there, hands in his pockets, looking as untouchable and unfairly sexy as ever. Hopping off the ledge, she headed towards him, shrugging lightly, "Well, I wasn't sure of how else to contact you. It's not like I have a Derek Hale bat-signal I could flash up into the clouds." Although, just how immeasurably awesome would that be? But, alright, to the point. "If you're ready to teach me, then I'm more than willing to learn."

It was near impossible to interpret but he seemed pleased with her dedicated cooperation. Maybe he'd thought Quinn was gonna be juvenile and supercilious, believing she knew better he did. But she didn't. She knew that she was just barely skating on this side of successful with the whole werewolf affair, while he'd been a werewolf for... well, actually she didn't know, but definitely longer than she had.

"It's not gonna come for free," he advised, and took a mental note on the lack of surprise on her face.

Quinn put her hands on her hips and inclined her head, "Well, I didn't presume you were doing it simply out of the kindness of your heart, although I confess to being at a complete loss as of what you could possibly want from _me_."

"You'd be surprised," Derek uttered, and this time she was seriously bewildered by the almost _flirtatious _tenor to his voice. Maybe she'd imagined it, wishful thinking. Yeah, that's probably it. He then turned and, in several effortless leaps between the different heightened roofs of the layered school building, landed unharmed on the grass. Then he looked up at Quinn, as though daring her to do the same. He was crazy... but so was she. So, a minute later, she touched down before him, breathing a little harder but as unscathed as Derek. "Not bad," he commented more than complimented, before leading her away.

They traversed over the streets and past civilian homes for a short while, in silence, before finally they reached the border of trees that lead into the nature preserve. Even only a week previous, the woods were cool but held no special meaning; now they were where Quinn had been bitten, it's where she'd met Derek, and been shot by Allison's jackass father. And apparently where they were headed. "Where are we going?" Quinn asked as the two of them trampled through the forest.

"My house."

She blinked rapidly at him, "You have a _house_?"

Derek raised a sceptical eyebrow at her, "Did you imagine I lived in the trees, or in an underground cavern?"

"Well, no," she admitted before smiling a little. "Maybe more like the Bat Cave. Or Superman's Crystal Fortress of Solitude." He shot her a weird look then, like he was wondering what the hell was up with her comparing him and his living quarters to superheroes. Then the trees parted into a large clearing; Quinn stopped, horrified, while Derek kept walking forward. His house was...

At one time, it would've been beautiful. Tall and elegant, but now nothing more than a burnt out husk of his family home. It was as dead and decayed as them. Slowly, Quinn trailed after Derek, her face fallen to an unmasked expression of grief. How could Derek go back here every day and not wanna blow his brains out at the memories that must hold the building together more than the walls? She didn't think she could do it. She would just feel alone and miserable all the time- did he feel that way?

"Well?"

Startled, Quinn turned back to Derek, efficiently disguising her horror with some harmless sarcasm, "What's that, Lassie?" They had now stepped into the charred remains of the living room. There was a filthy seat and a dust-covered couch, both of which looked like they would crumble away at a touch never mind a person's body weight.

Honestly, she should've been splattered dead against the wall with all the force behind his responding glare, but he only told her, "You're going to shift, and then you're going to stop," in a commanding voice.

"Until?" she ventured.

"Until I say you're done."

Fair enough. Okay, here goes. Not sure what to do with herself, but also not willing to sit down and choke on the thick layer of dust covering everything in the immediate area, Quinn deigned to just stand there, close her eyes and think of things that make her angry. Start with the biggies: _uh, people upsetting Stiles or mom, discrimination, subjugation, owners who don't look after their pets, nosy people... let's see- reality TV, water rings on wood, waiting lines, screaming children_. "Yeah, this isn't working."

Derek didn't seem surprised. He, in fact, stepped forward and took a hold of her hand. Stunned and feeling every one of her nerves tingling curiously, Quinn's blue stare flickered to his gorgeous green eyes, finding unexpected yet extreme pleasure in the gentle warmth of his calloused capable fingers sliding across hers- and _bloody hell_, that asshole had just **_slashed her palm open_**.

"_Ouch_! What the hell did you do that for?" she barked, in pain and indignation both, as she yanked her hand back and defended it by cradling it close to her chest. As Quinn snapped, unbeknownst to her... her eyes flashed a quick gold.

"It'll heal," he excused unsympathetically. "And it made you angry."

Damn right it did. "So, what, pain is my friend because it makes me want to punch you in the face?" she sniped.

"You're different," Derek continued, and she wondered if that was a good or bad thing. He did too. "Pain usually makes us shift back, it makes us human- but it makes you angrier. You take _offense_ to others harming you and you lash out in response. So if you don't want me to do _this_," he quickly jabbed her again with the tip of the blade and she scowled, drew away from him by a few steps, "then think of something that makes you want to tear into someone, and stop wasting my time."

"Oh, and here I thought you existed only to make my life more difficult." Not really. She was sure he had his own personal crises; the hunters, debts, fleas, grocery shopping. Now, he'd said that pain made her wolf-out, so recalling who'd harmed her seemed like a good idea. There was Donny Hardman who'd broken her heart when they were eight but she wasn't upset about her silly crush anymore, the group of popular girls that'd been jealous of her and forcefully shaved her head- a style that Stiles had quickly picked up- when she was twelve but she'd gotten back at them two-fold. There were many no longer important grievances... and of course there was her father.

He'd been more committed to his _super important_ job more than to his own family- missing dinners, movie nights, the dance recitals Quinn had performed in when she was a child, even her birthday twice and his marriage anniversaries _always_. He'd been sometimes ill-tempered and put her mother through emotional hell. Her fury increased the more she thought about him. How he'd refused to let her have friends over or for her to sleepover at their house just _because_. How he would make a giant mess cooking himself food and never cleaned it up, always leaving it for Melissa. His dirty clothes and work papers strewn over all surfaces. Gods, he was like a child in how he acted sometimes. Her stomach started to tighten, her breathing picked up in tandem with her heart-rate, her head was buzzing, her fisted hands were shaking and she just wanted to claw out her father's eyes.

Derek, sensing the intense shift in Quinn's attitude, stood straighter, preparing for the need to restrain her. She'd attack him soon. Her father had cheated too, with a woman from the office- then _he'd_ filed for divorce; tried to steal Quinn from her mother, willing to leave her with nothing but bills; Melissa had been so distraught but tried to hide it for her daughter's sake... he _broke her heart_! And he broke his daughter's too.

Derek released a grunt when Quinn went wild- roaring viciously with her fangs on full display, liquid gold eyes bright- and barrelled right into him, forcing him heavily back against the decrepit banister of the staircase. She packed one hell of a punch for such a little thing; lots of anger. Her talons dug painfully into his shoulders, but he managed to get a good enough grip on her to swing her over his head, with her landing with the steps bruising her back. He leapt on up after, touching down at the top of the stairs. She speedily regained her bearings and snarled, clawing her talons into the wood of the steps to launch herself forward. Derek caught a hold of her slender arms, but the force behind her tackle ended in them- oh, _son of a_...!

A smash of glass, a two-story fall, at least one broken bone each, and a series of pained groans from the both of them- Derek found himself lying beside Quinn out on his backyard. She broke his window. Last time he helps her.

"Well, I've got the shifting part down," Quinn spoke then, using a light-hearted tone. Turning his head to meet her blue eyes, he noted that she had reverted back to her human mind. And that she was smiling too much for somebody who'd just thrown themselves out a window. There was tiny glimmering shards of glass in her hair, the skin of her arms and cheeks were sliced open and leaking blood in places, and she was grinning away like it was all a big joke. This girl was insane. "And now we know that all it takes to bring me back is to toss me out a window. Better than nothing."

"I beg to differ," Derek muttered, glaring. Jeez, that face was sculpted by angels in their own image. Quinn snickered, and that was when she smelled the blood- not hers, nor his. _Damn it_.

* * *

After quite determinedly sleeping the remainder of the day away, Quinn awoke the following morning and hurried off to school. Her mind was twisted into a flurry of questions and conflictions. She was nearly certain that the blood she'd smelled in Derek's garden had come from the other half of the dead girl buried on his property. Naturally, the sensible thing to do would be to rat him out to the police and have them arrest him for murder. But why did that feel like the wrong decision when it was clearly the right thing to do? Her own wolf status infiltrated her mind, then- what would she be liable to do if Derek wasn't around to teach her how to control herself, or at least restrain her as he was the only one in Beacon Hills strong enough to do so?

And it was totally inappropriate and utterly unhelpful of her teenaged brain to immediately conjure up fantasies of the most welcome and kinky ways for Derek to _restrain her_. Focus. So, the choices were doing the right thing for justice or the wrong thing for selfish reasons. Gods, she would seriously need to think about this. She'd been so caught up in her dilemma, she was surprised to find herself bashing into Jackson in the corridor. "Hey, McCall, I know you can't see without those hideous glasses of yours, but try to fall flat on your face somewhere else, would you?"

Oh, _burn_. Picking on her glasses was so harsh she thought that she might cry. "Oh, what's wrong, love- is your steroid shot itching and making you cranky?"

"I don't need to use steroids. All natural," he praised himself, flexing his arm muscles in her face. Yes, because it was completely ordinary for a sixteen year old to have limbs the size of tree trunks.

"Why bother with all that hard work when you can be like the pros?" Oh, yeah, she went there. "You afraid of needles? You needn't worry, they're not half as much of a prick as you are." Now, much as he lived up to his name of jackass, Quinn didn't hate Jackson as much as she probably should. He was annoying and insolent and a desperate overachiever but mostly she just found amusement in his antics. Maybe it because he was pretty. It's harder to hate an attractive person- or perhaps she was just a vain person. That was probably it. And he also sometimes had this strange fragility about him- like if you said the wrong thing he was likely to start weeping.

Not right now, though. Right now, he was content on being an invulnerable jerk lacrosse captain. "You know, your fascination with steroids is quite intriguing. Is that how you did it? Scored some Gym Candy, thought you'd show off some moves in PE."

What? Okay, Quinn was not embarrassed to admit that she laughed in his face. Loudly. "You think I'm doing drugs? Well, sorry to break your heart, rich boy- but that win in PE, you know, where I dominated the game and kicked your ass... _all natural_," smirking victoriously, Quinn strutted by Jackson. So, fair enough, the whole werewolf thing had made that show in PE possible, but that all came naturally to her now so it wasn't even like lying really.

She took a left, walked down the corridor- and faltered in surprise, when Stiles appeared from nowhere and grabbed a hold of her jacket sleeve. "Hey, come here. Tell me what they're saying," he led her to corner where they could hide and gestured over to where his dad was standing with a deputy and the principle in the middle of the school hall. "Can you hear them?" If there was ever a time to train her super hearing sense, now would be it. Angling her head so her ear pointed towards them, Quinn held her hair back so it wouldn't muffle the voices.

"... everyone under the age of eighteen," Sheriff Stilinski was commanding, "to be in their home by nine-thirty pm. We'd like to instigate a curfew, effective immediately."

"A nine-thirty curfew because of the dead girl," Quinn reiterated to Stiles, before grinning. "But only those under eighteen so I'm in the clear."

Stiles shot her a half-lidded deadpan, "Well, yippee for you. This is unbelievable. My dad's out looking for a rabid animal while the jerk-off who actually killed the girl is just hanging out, doing whatever he wants." Well, there went her plan of telling Stiles that she'd gone to Derek for help controlling her wolf rage. And she couldn't tell him about the possibility of the body being in Derek's backyard as he would automatically tell his dad, getting Derek arrested and Stiles killed because she wolfed out and tore him to shreds. Damn it. "I'm gonna find the other half of the body," Stiles said suddenly, definitive, before executing a dramatic walk-away.

"Not if I do first." Apparently, she'd made her choice. She would save Stiles and protect Derek. She _would_ control her wolf.

* * *

So, after a quick clandestine trip to the morgue to, yes, _smell_ the legs of the corpse, Quinn headed out to Derek's under the blanket of night. She trampled through the woods, successfully recalling the direction to find the decrepit Hale Estate. Kneeling in the foliage, she watched Derek's sleek black car pull out and drive off- fortunate indeed-, before she sneaked around back. She swung the shovel from its position of resting upon her shoulder and forcefully shoved it deep into the mound of dirt. She didn't know how long her 'sensei' would be gone so she had to work fast, but even her wolf strength didn't speed up the process by much.

It must've taken twenty minutes before her shovel finally touched something buried in the filth. Dropping the shovel to the side, Quinn crouched down, using her hands to rid the dirt from the tarp she uncovered. Speedily untying the billion of knots, Quinn through back the canvas to reveal- a freaking _wolf_?! Instinctively covering her mouth with her hands to muffle her scream, Quinn took in a deep breath and, on a hunch, brushed back the sheet some more. It was only the _front half_ of a wolf. The dead girl was a werewolf too, but different from her. Quinn was quite certain that she didn't turn into an actual freaking wolf. What a disappointment. That would've been the coolest.

Now what to do?

Move the body, put it somewhere in the woods that someone will find it, maybe call in an anonymous tip into the police station. After stretching out the aching fatigued muscles of her arms and lower back, Quinn bent down, preparing to haul the wolf out- when a blue flower caught her eye. Struck, because she _knew_ that plant, because it was wolfsbane and it was meant to be poison or something to her, she headed over and snagged it from where it was shallowly planted in the ground. A rope, tied to the bottom of the roots, lifted and she ran a couple fingers along the length. The more she tugged, the more string there was. It seemed to be set into a curious spiral shape with the werewolf's corpse at the epicentre. Weird. Just something to Google, she figured.

And then, when she turned back to grab the werewolf- the dead girl's vacant eyes stared back at her. After wrapping the poor girl back in the quilt, Quinn lifted the package up and laid it on the ground a few feet away. After dumping the wolfsbane rope into the vacated hole, she covered it back up and once again hauled the wrapped corpse into her arms. It was an awkward carry but she managed to walk for awhile, finding the edge of the forest, and unravelling the tarp on the ground to uncover the girl's head. Out of a respect that surprised Quinn with the intensity, she gently brushed the girl's eyelids closed, leaving the blanket to modestly cover her more private area.

One thing she hadn't considered before occurred to her then. Derek was gonna kill her once he heard the body had been found.

* * *

After an unfruitful surf of the web, looking for any reference- obvious or obscure- to a wolfsbane burial ritual or anything of the sort, Quinn went to bed, disillusioned and prepared for the fallout of her covert actions. In the morning, she awoke to the frantic and deathly irritating _ring-ring-ring-ring-ring_ of someone repeatedly jamming their finger into the doorbell. Stiles.

"Dude, they found the remainder of the, well, the girl's remains," he announced, hurried, as soon as she'd opened the door, and she responded with her best _You're joshing me_ expression. She felt seriously guilty, she did, for not including Stiles in her plans, but she didn't regret it either. He would've squealed to his dad, Derek would be in prison and Quinn would be certain to start gnawing on everybody in town as soon as she inevitably lost control once more. Hell, two days before, she'd been so out of it she had tackled Derek out a _window_ on the _second_ floor. "Some guy found it when driving, nearly totalled his car." Oops. "I mean, why would Derek move the body where someone could easily trip over it?"

"Maybe he wants her murder solved as much as anyone," she suggested. Okay, so she was stating her own reasons in moving the corpse, but just because he hid the evidence didn't mean Derek was the killer. Maybe he hid her away because she was a werewolf and he obviously couldn't let such news spread around town. And she handed the body over to the police. Damn it.

Stiles immediately responded, his words a quickened ramble as thought after thought infiltrated his brain, "But why? I mean, if you're going to wolf out and go nuts with the blood and the guts and the maiming and a girl ends up chewed in half, you're going to need to hide the evidence- anyone who had watched any cop show ever knows that. And why kill her in the first place? Did she find out what he was, was she one of those hunters? There's no way of knowing why he killed her, unless he confesses or he didn't kill her..." he finished- and then looked at her with an astonished _dude, maybe he didn't kill her_ look of epiphany on his face.

Quinn's mouth fell open, and all she could manage was, "I don't know what to tell you." Except goodbye, farewell, sayonara- because this might be the last time anyone ever saw her because even if he didn't kill the girl, Derek was definitely gonna kill her for meddling and messing with his garden.

* * *

So it took Derek several hours to actually come for Quinn.

After Stiles left to get ready for the lacrosse game that night, Melissa was busy at work, and Quinn stayed home and spent the day in teenage luxury. She watched some movies, played video games, snacked on junk food and Coke- and the music blaring insanely loud into her ear via her headphones drowned out the sound of another werewolf letting himself into her house. Startled when the headphones were abruptly knocked to the ground, Quinn's head shot up as a hand grabbed her by the neckline of her t-shirt, hauling her up over the back of the couch and pushing her back against the wall, restraining her there by her collar like a naughty dog. None of it had hurt but it was all so sudden that her head was spinning.

"The police found something in the woods today," Derek's voice filtered through her dizziness and nausea, and she fought for a hold on equilibrium, focusing her blue eyes on his not-so-happy handsome face. Ah damn. "And _someone_ has been digging up my property. Have any pertinent information you'd care to contribute, McCall?"

Much as she'd been expecting this confrontation, what surprised her was the anger welling in her gut. He'd buried half of a dead girl and _he_ was lecturing _her_? "Derek, I know that those facial muscles of yours are permanently stuck in that handsome frown but I would swear that you were more upset than usual," her tone started sarcastic, but his ungratefulness and the demeaning hold on her shirt caused her temple to bubble and spill over, her voice rose to a biting growl. "Maybe it's because of the _physical violence_, when really, you should be _thanking_ me for not exposing you to the police for murder like any _sane_ person would have."

Rolling out of his grasp, she rammed her shoulder hard into his chest, knocking him back and then she kicked him powerfully in the chest. His back cracked the plaster of the wall behind him, as Quinn bared her elongated fangs and her eyes unintentionally swirled gold. Derek was clearly pissed. He'd come, already angry, and her attack on him was the final straw. Rolling his shoulders and neck, Quinn, for the first time, laid witness to his werewolf visage. His eyes were _blue_. Her surprise gave him the advantage, and he took the opportunity to clasp her around the back of the neck and fling her over the back of the couch. Picking herself off the floor, she ducked her head in time for him to sail over it, with Derek landing in a crouched position, with a snarling _come at me_ expression.

Grabbing a hold of the coffee table, Quinn swung it into Derek with enough force to send him careening through the large window at the front of the house. He landed on the grass outside and she immediately charged after him, leaping on top of him, her claws unthinkingly primed to tear into his throat. His own hands lashed out, and he flipped them over, holding her wrists to the ground, unflinching as her bared fangs snapped a couple inches from his face. Futilely, she yanked against his hold, trying to claw her way from him, for a few minutes- but under his stare she began to calm, came back to her senses... and realised, "You're not a wolf either."

"No," he concurred, looking expectant- as though waiting for her to come to a certain comprehension.

Which she quickly was. "And your eyes are blue, not red." Then she paused, because, "What the hell does that mean?"

Only when Derek climbed to his feet did Quinn realise that he'd actually been straddling her and it was every definition of hot that existed increased and multiplied by a zillion. Damn, she seriously needed to get a grip and stop ogling the man. While she stood up too, Derek turned his back on her to survey the damage done to her house by their nonsensical scrabble. "I mean that I've taken an innocent life," he answered, and Quinn stalled, wavering on a step towards him.

"That girl in the woods?" she enquired quietly and he froze- because how in the hell had she known about Paige?- before realising she meant Laura.

He hadn't intended to tell her of the Alpha so quickly, but there was no merit or advantage in keeping that truth from her any longer. She had to understand the gravity of the situation. If only so she would stop attacking him because she believed him to be a murderer- which he was, but not of who she thought. "I didn't kill her," Derek confessed, looking down to meet her blue gaze as she stepped up to his side. "And I wasn't the one who bit you." Her mouth parted a bit at the unexpected news, but he forged on with even more. "There's another werewolf in town; an Alpha, the most dangerous of our kind. You and I, we're Betas. This thing is more powerful, more animal than either of us. I'm trying to find him, but this time... I'm the one that needs your help."

"Because he sired me?" Quinn questioned, taking his words remarkably well.

"Because you're a part of _his pack_. I can teach you how to sense him, _track_ him- and the quicker the better." Now for the kicker. "Because _you're_ the one he wants." While she swallowed that information, Derek skimmed an eye over her crumbling living-room. The coffee table with a dreadful crack down the middle, the indent on the wall, the shattered window- what was with her and windows? Noticing her check her phone's time and the darkening of the sky, he told her, "You can go to the lacrosse game. We'll pick up again tomorrow."

The grin she graced him with was stunning, revealing sweet smile lines and enhancing the little beauty spot on her right cheekbone.

* * *

Quinn had never been much of a sporty girl, too attached to the indoors and her technology to enjoy the diversions of the outside, but it'd become a sort of tradition to attend every lacrosse match, taking residence with Stiles on the second-string bench. Her mother had been on day-shift and would've been home by now, marvelling over her daughter's capability for 'clumsy accidents'- she couldn't think of an acceptable excuse considering none existed. The game was only starting to kick off and, when Quinn went to grab a drink, she encountered Allison.

She hadn't known what to say to her, filled with too many questions. Did she know about werewolves too, was she a hunter, did she or her father know Quinn was a wolf now, what about Derek, and the Alpha, did they have anything to do with the girl in the woods? So she settled with a friendly smile and a single word, "Hey."

"Oh, hi, I'm glad I caught you. I meant to speak to you at school, but I guess you've been busy." Kinda, but mostly she'd just been avoiding her. "I thought that we could go out to eat after the game- a sort of celebratory or conciliatory thing, depending on how the game goes obviously. You, me, Lydia, Jackson. Ask Stiles to come too. It'll be great." A man came up behind Allison then. His hair was cropped and blonde, with a handsome older face, and steely blue eyes. Oh Gods. "Oh, Quinn, this is my dad."

She knew who he was. Quinn's breathing stuttered and stopped, and she involuntary pressed a hand to her stomach; staring into those steely blue eyes, she was incapable of avoiding the remembrance of just how it had felt have to have that crossbow bolt tearing through her sternum. And he held his hand out to her, smiling courteously, "I'm Chris Argent."

Quinn couldn't take his hand- she could already feel the claws desperately trying to dig out of her skin and into the softness of his eyes, intending to gouge them out and shove them down his throat- but she forced herself to, and to wear a convincing smile as she introduced herself in return. It was a good test of her endurance and control. Derek had said that pain and the insult she got from being harmed brought forth her wolf, and he was right because she was one more word from Chris away from lunging at his throat. In front of his daughter. With more witnesses than she could count- and not just because she couldn't count very high, which she totally could.

Fortunately, a cheer came from the crowd and drew Allison's attention, while the noise of it only spurned Quinn further. She had to get out before she turned the lacrosse game into more of a bloodbath than it already was. "Apparently we're missing some good stuff. I'll see you after, right, Quinn?" At her tight nod, Allison led her psychotic bastard of a father away.

Meanwhile, Quinn speedily stumbled away from all the students and parents. Her chest felt tight and her hyperventilating was not going to help. She was determined not to turn but her physiology seemed even more dogged to do just that. She dragged her sharp  
claws along the walls of the school corridor she'd entered as she forced herself further from that hunter asshole. She snarled and squeezed her eyes shut, trying and failing to find her mind beyond her wrath; etched into her eyelids were all the imaginative tortures for the man who'd dared _challenge_ her, attack _her_. She would kill him, show him who the top dog was in town. _Her_ town. Just as she straightened with renewed purpose and turned to stalk and hunt Chris, two strong hands latched onto her and shoved her up against the wall.

_No_!

She was sick of being restrained and bettered. She clawed and kicked and buckled against the hold, blinded with red and black and ire and affront, and _craving_ hunter's blood. Still, the grasp on her arms sustained, and there was a voice in her ear, a warm breath breezed across her face. "McCall, focus. Breathe. Look at me. _Focus_." Derek's green eyes stared deep into hers but she was far gone. The sight of him was being overridden by Chris Argent's scrutinizing icy gaze, the feel of his hands on her hidden under the bite of the crossbow bolt, his voice muted by the remembrance of the merciless _'Take her'_. Derek could see this wasn't working, so he growled out, "_Quinn_, think of Stiles."

So she did. She thought of those cute little moles scattered across the skin of his cheeks and forehead, his dark cropped hair, those expressive eyes that were somewhat brown but also hazel at the same time, his awkward charming attitude and flair for dramatics. She thought of his stumbling sarcastic wit that she'd always treasured, and his genius, and ingenuity. His boyish grin and endless adoration and fascination with the gorgeous smarty-pants Lydia. Before she knew it, Derek's hands fell from her and there were no thoughts of Chris Argent left in her head.

"You called me Quinn," she grinned, and Derek expressed a want to roll his eyes but somehow resisted. "That's the first time."

Ignoring her words, he noted, "We've found your anchor and, with it, your control. He brings you back." Stiles. Of course. Who else would it be? She could do this. She and Stiles were in this together. The relief flushed out of her in a deep exhale, as she leaned her back against the wall. "We'll work on your speed tomorrow," Derek continued. At her questioning look, he explained, "I need you to do more than just find the Alpha. He's stronger than I am, faster too. But there are strength in numbers, and the only way to kill him... is to do it together. And the stronger and faster _you_ are, the more likelihood that we'll succeed, and you will live."

"So, you want me to risk my life against a gigantic lethal beast when it doesn't benefit me at all?"

"Yes."

She grinned, all bravery and insanity, "...Count me in."

* * *

When Quinn jogged back outside to the pitch, pointedly keeping her stare on her destination and far from the bleachers where Allison and her father would be sitting, the Beacon Hills team were winning by two points. Jackson must've been at the top of his game. She scooted by Coach Finstock- who didn't spare her a glance, too involved in the game- and slid in beside Stiles on the bench, asking him, "What'd I miss?"

She's meant the game, of course, but he immediately launched into, "My dad got a call. The medical examiner looked at the other half of the body they found; they determined that the killer of the girl was an _animal_, not human." How in the hell had he gotten all of this crucial classified information out of his father? Not that she was complaining. "And here's a bigger kick in the ass. My dad I.D.'d the body, both halves... her name was Laura Hale. She was Derek's _sister_." Holy shit.

The Alpha had killed what little family he'd had left. Gods, Quinn would be gunning for him too if in Derek's situation. No wonder he'd buried her, out of respect for his sister... and she'd dug her up again like a common grave robber. Ah, damn it.

"Stiles," Quinn spoke, laying an arm over her best friend's shoulders, "there's something- well, _several_ some things- I need to tell you about Derek."


	2. Pack Mentality

**Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf nor anything connected to it, except for Quinn McCall. **

**Sorry took so long. I was busy replaying Dragon Age Origins and Mass Effect 1, while also playing for the first time- Lightning Returns. Also reading fanfictions and watching my long list of favourite TV shows- and pretty much doing anything to avoid having to writing.**

**So it's come to my attention that my plot-kittens (like plot-bunnies, but so much more high-maintenance) have a crush on Peter, thus there will be some flirting between him and Quinn after he is revealed as the Alpha. There will be an evident degree of attraction and some sexual tension between the two and a deep connection originating from him being her sire. After all, unfairly attractive bad boys are so unfairly irresistible, right? If that displeases you, I apologise but, hey, nobody is making you read- although it does make me pleased if people do. No pressure.**

**By the way, just so you know, this is a Derek/OC story, but, more than that, it is about Quinn. It's ****her**** story. He's not the only male in her life and not the only she will be drawn to, although he is her main love. But, before they can get a happily ever after- and I seriously expect they will get one, given I dislike sad or bittersweet endings- there will probably be others, or at least hinted towards; Jennifer Blake for him; Peter and maybe even something with Deucalion- played by the gorgeous talented Gideon Emery, who voices several of my favourite game characters- for Quinn. Because apparently her type is older men who make choices of questionable morality. Or maybe they're just the type who desire her.**

**I was also thinking that, given Derek and Quinn's first names don't mesh at all, their ship name would be 'McHale'.**

**Hope you enjoy. Leave a review if you care to. ;P**

* * *

_He was close._

_She could smell him; a thick gamy odour of rancid sweat and coppery pants-wetting terror. And she could hear him; clomping heavily around, fidgeting anxiously in his inept hidey-hole at the back of the garish yellow school bus. He whimpered as she dragged her claws along the side of the vehicle, intentionally making a screeching noise that set her own teeth on edge. He muffled his own girly yelp, and she felt a grin crawl upon her face as sadistic pleasure welled at his fright. He knew she was coming for him. And he knew why._

_Taking slow, silent steps up onto the bus and towards him. He was speaking now, whispering broken pleas for amnesty. Too late for that. Too much blood and fire and suffering scarred into her memories, marring her skin as revoltingly as her spirit. He'd brought his own end upon himself. Tearing open a chair in a macabre mockery of a spiral with five large talons, she crouched down on four legs and stalked forward. _

_Finally, as her snarling snout and demented luminous scarlet gaze were inches from his face, she lunged. He tried to twist away, get around her and run, but she caught him, shredding through his ankles, yanking him to the ground. Screams filled the bus, blood was sprayed through the air to splatter the windows and drench her, and, as she briefly leaned back to survey her handiwork- she caught sight of his face. Stiles- oh God, Stiles! No... Derek- Danny- Jackson- Deaton- Sheriff-... dad. The face blurred and morphed and shifted before her eyes; all of them, none of them. Their screams of her name haunted her, but this man had to die. So he did._

* * *

"So, I'm confused, who did you kill?" Stiles questioned as he and Quinn entered the school building.

She shrugged, just as lost as he, "You, your dad, Derek, Jackson, Danny, Deaton, my dad- I don't know. Only men, though, so apparently I'm a man-eater. But, hey, no body- no crime." It occurred to her that she should probably be more concerned. After all, wasn't fantasising of murder a prerequisite to becoming a werewolf and chewing on people's organs? But it wasn't the first strange dream Quinn had had since first wolfing out. There was the one with that psychotic demon Alpha hunting her through a ladies' underwear department, and the one where Stiles had married a chimera because a unicorn was enforcing a shotgun wedding and Quinn was the minister, and a recurring one with Derek and an acutely uncomfortable throne- but that was a whole other story.

"But it _was_ just a dream, right?" Stiles looked a bit freaked out now, probably because she'd said his death first. And because of those times she had tried to mutilate him. "I mean, you didn't wake up with the taste for a Stiles sandwich with extra guts and gore on the side," she did not imagine the slight step he took away from her. Rolling her eyes, she looped her arm through his and pulled him against her side, grinning away.

As Derek had said, Stiles was her _anchor_- he was the only person in the entirety of the universe that didn't have to worry about her hurting him. Not again. "Stiles, I swear the town is safe from my homicidal rampaging- at most I'll probably raid and pillage a few candy stores, and end up a roly-poly lycanthrope covered in sugar that everyone would die from laughing at." They both stopped then, because they'd come to an open door and found the police surrounding one of the school buses- a very mangled bus. The back emergency door had been nearly torn off its hinges, the back windows were smashed, blood was splattered everywhere- including _puddles_ of the stuff on the asphalt- and, yep, there were five deep claw marks etched into the side of the vehicle. "... or I seriously need to speak to Derek."

"Is Derek your answer for everything?" Stiles questioned, sounding maybe a little jealous, as they stepped away from the crime scene. All things considered, Stiles had taken the news of her training remarkably... badly. Like really quite dreadfully. He'd treated her with the silent treatment for about ten seconds, before exploding at her, before going back to the pouty face that was worse than anything else he could've done.

Quinn smiled, her mischievousness in contrast to the fact she'd just discovered she might be a murderer. She'd have to check her wolf eyes in the mirror, make certain they were still golden. "Everything relating to wolves and sex, yes," she snickered at the grossed-out noise and face Stiles responded with. Honestly, there was so much ridiculous lore and myths out there that it only made sense to ask an actual werewolf for information. Besides, she took solace in his presence. It was a special sort of comfort, knowing you had the company of a person more knowledgeable than yourself. And it didn't hurt if said person was immeasurably hot.

Allison came hurrying over to them then, "Did you guys see?"

"The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: Bus Edition?" Stiles muttered sarcastically. "Kinda hard to miss."

"People are thinking it was an animal."

"I'm putting my bet on a lemur," Quinn remarked. When the two of them stared, she shrugged and crossed her arms, "Have you seen those things when they're angry? Speedy, _psychotic_ little bastards. Tear your eyes out as soon as look at you."

"Quinn's phobia of small furry creatures aside, have there been any bodies found?" Stiles asked Allison, who merely shrugged a slender shoulder in response. Over the school intercom, the principle announced that despite the police presence, classes would proceed as usual- much to the disappointment of all students listening. What did they expect though? Given that Chemistry with Aiden Harris was first on their lists, Quinn and Stiles split from Allison so they could migrate to their respective classrooms.

Now, Quinn might've not been much of a known around school, but everyone was aware that if you sat beside Stiles then she would literally kick you off the chair and steal it- which she had done many times, to several different people. The result being that there was always two empty seats beside each other. Perfect for personal conversations. "Maybe it was the Alpha."

"Maybe it was a rabbit," Stiles suggested, before realising how that sounded. "That died, not that went berserk and tore up the school bus. _Although_ I wouldn't put it past the evil rodents." Leporiphobia- that explained the pet boa.

Quinn grinned, "Now who's afraid of furry animals?"

"_Said_ the furry animal."

As she gaped in pseudo hurt, and prepared a witty retort, a hand slammed down the book she'd set up to hide their moving mouths, knocking it flat down on its pages. It'd worked rather well, so long as they kept their voices low and heads ducked down. "Ms. McCall, can you answer the question or would you prefer to repeat _another_ year of high school?" Harris was not amused. Honestly, for someone so young and more handsome on the outside than the shrew he truly was, you would think he wouldn't be so ill-tempered. He seriously needed laid. Several times. Ugh, and she'd just made herself sick by thinking of Harris in bed.

He'd asked a question? Taking the pencil from its position dangling between her teeth, Quinn spun it around her nimble fingers and glanced to the chalkboard, but it offered no hint to a solution- nor did Stiles as he shrugged unhelpfully. So she took a stab in the dark, "Forty-two, point eight... and a half?"

Harris' responding heavy sigh would've suggested deep disappointment; only, for that, he would've first had to possess any high expectations for her. "For that to have been correct, you first would have had to be in _Maths_ class. My only regret is that you are here instead, permeating my classroom with your stupidity and infecting those around you. Thank the heavens you and Stilinski always sit together, maybe it'll keep the idiocy contained to the one dark corner." Yeah, big words don't make you less of a pompous stuck-up twerp scumbag bastard asshole, Harris.

Only Stiles' jittering leg bouncing against her own kept Quinn from shifting and tearing Harris' throat out with her teeth. Well, that, and the fact a girl then jumped up and announced, "Hey, I think they found something." Every student in the room jumped up and hurried over to the wall of windows. There was an ambulance now, and some cops were pushing along a gurney with a man lying still. Quinn went tense, had she killed him? "That's no rabbit," Stiles pointed out the glaring obvious-

... and the man's torso convulsed, and he sat up, screaming. While the other teens shrieked, Quinn instinctively leaped up and towards Stiles, who caught her in a manner identical to Shaggy and Scooby Doo- yes, she would be the dog. Sharing a look, he quickly set her down and they both cleared their throats, suitably embarrassed. Then she snickered, while he muttered, "This is good, this is good. He got up. He's not dead. Dead guys can't do that."

"Unless he's a zombie," Quinn gasped, eyes wide. "Or a vampire." Hey, she was a werewolf- why not?

* * *

"I mean, even if he _is_ a zombie, there's no need for me to worry. He would go for the genius people with the tastiest brains first- like you and Lydia- giving me time to _get away_," Quinn remarked, making little running away gestures with her fingers. "And, as for being a vampire- well, I don't expect he would get a hankering for dog, _also_ leaving me in the clear." A couple classes later, she and Stiles headed into the cafeteria. With her grabbing a soda, an apple and a cup of chocolate mousse, they took their seats beside each other at an empty table.

"Well, thanks for successfully ruining my appetite," Stiles complained, before shovelling some fries into his gob. Moron, she smiled fondly, as she ducked her head and ate some mousse from her spoon. "So, you think your dream wasn't in fact a dream but a memory or perhaps a hallucination invoked by a psychotic Alpha- and Derek will know for sure?"

Quinn shrugged, flicking open her can, "I'm going to see him later anyway, maybe I'll just slip in the question between 'where's the bathroom' and 'am I going to grow fur'. Can't hurt."

"What can't hurt?"

Both Stiles and Quinn froze, mouths hanging somewhat agape as Lydia appeared, set her tray down and sat to Stiles' left. As she looked at them, expectant and probably wondering if they were mentally challenged. "Stiles was thinking of becoming a lion-tamer," was the first thing that came from Quinn's mouth. She received an elbow in the ribs and a hushed _dude!_ from Stiles. "Well now she knows your name," she hissed back- while Allison took the chair opposite her.

She was swiftly joined by Danny, and a lacrosse player called Brian- who was swiftly budged off by Jackson, who slid in beside his girlfriend at the end of the table. "Speaking of big cats," Danny spoke up, now between Jackson and Allison- no, not like _that_, "they're saying the bus was some kind of animal attack. Probably a cougar."

"I heard mountain lion," Jackson input. What a genius.

"A cougar _is_ a mountain lion," Lydia exacted, sounding almost cantankerous- before adding, dumbly, "Isn't it?" She was _way_ too smart for Jackson.

He rolled his eyes in retort, "Who cares? The guy's probably some hopeless tweaker who's gonna die anyway."

"Your compassion for your fellow man is awe-inspiring," Quinn commented sarcastically, childishly sticking her tongue out at him when he glared.

"Actually, I just found out who it is," Stiles finally spoke, after having been messing with his phone since the others sat down. "Check it out," he then held his arm out so they could all see the screen of his phone. Leaning back and against his side, Quinn tilted her head to get a better view. "_... the sheriff's department won't speculate on details of the incident but confirmed the victim, Garrison Meyers, did survive the attack. Meyers was taken to a local hospital where he remains in critical condition_." She remembered that guy; he'd driven the bus she'd taken when her parents were still in the middle of a custody battle and she'd been living briefly with her dad.

Lydia sighed heavily, gaining their attention, as Stiles put his phone away again. "Can we talk about something a little more fun, please," not really a question. "Like, oh, since I am _not_ sitting home again watching lacrosse videos, we should all hang-out tonight. Not you, Brian- not after last time," she decreed, and he stood and left with a huff. Quinn watched him go, what happened _last time_? "But Jackson and I, Danny and Erik, Quinn and Stiles-" at this, Stiles' head shot up, "and we could get you a date, Allison. There are so many hot single guys on the lacrosse team I've been meaning to introduce you to."

"Like Isaac Lahey," Quinn noted, and grinned slyly when Allison blushed and ducked her head. "Oh, my radar is going off. Someone nearby has a crush- although it could just be Stiles." He elbowed her again, and she turned the conversation away from his love for Lydia, "It's the hair, isn't it? Or the blue eyes."

"I just... noticed him on the field a few times, that's all," she murmured, brushing back her hair shyly. Aw, she was so innocent and adorable. Unlike her asshole father.

"Perfect," Lydia dictated cheerily. "We could all go bowling." Funny how that rhymed with howling.

* * *

"Lydia thinks we're a couple, Lydia thinks _we're_ a couple, Lydia thinks we're a _couple_!" Stiles was distraught, and none of the words Quinn had been unable to get in edgewise would comfort him. "This is terrible. What about my ten year plan to make Lydia fall in love with me? This is just the worst thing that could ever happen!" Ouch. Quinn pouted, not bothering to tactfully shield her upset. Honestly, she thought she made great girlfriend material; she was pretty, not especially high maintenance, she wasn't the jealous type and she was considerably loyal meaning she would never be unfaithful.

But, anyways, "I don't know. Could always be worse. She could've thought you gay, said '_Danny_ and Stiles'. Although, getting Danny in bed- you should only be so lucky."

"That's true," Stiles considered, before quickly asserting, "Not getting Danny in- you know, I don't think Danny actually likes me very much."

"He likes you just fine, Stiles."

"Maybe he's not attracted to me. Am I not attractive to gay guys?"

"I'm sure there are many gay men attracted to you, you're probably just not Danny's type. Okay, this conversation is just _too_ _weird_ to have with a straight man, Stiles. Unless there is something seriously you need to tell me as my gay best friend. And much as I'd love to talk about my lycanthropy or our crazy not-date group date, I'd best dash lest I be unpunctual, lose my job and miss out on all the adorable puppies and kittens- and the occasional porcupine." So, Deaton was such a nice guy there's no way he would fire her for being late only once, but the point still stood that she didn't want to let him down or keep him waiting. He had always been more of a father figure to her than her actual biological dad.

* * *

Derek already had company when Quinn finally got off work to go see him. There was a police car parked outside, with an officer hesitating at investigating the super creepy 'haunted house'. Once his dog went mental- did Derek do that? could she?- and a call came through the radio, he gladly leapt back in his car and speedily drove off. "You're a popular man today, Derek," Quinn smiled, as she stepped up onto the charred porch and Derek had swung the front door open.

"Oh, yeah, I'm a regular Elvis Pressley," he muttered sarcastically- and she tried hard not to baulk at the ensuing mental-image of gorgeous stern Derek Hale in a white disco suit. Ew. Even _he_ couldn't pull that off. "What do you want?" Straight to the heart, huh? Fair enough, she wasn't meant to be there for at least several hours for her lessons. Apparently werewolves were nocturnal. Funny thing was, recently Quinn had also taken to spending the night out, sprinting through the woods and training with Derek, and only catching maybe a couple hours sleep before school. Not the healthiest routine, but she couldn't- and strangely didn't wish to- shake it.

"Right. You said that I have a connection with the Alpha, and last night I had a dream of eating a guy that was so real... I can still recall how _gratifying_ it felt to tear into him," she darted her eyes away, crossing her arms and scuffing her shoe on the ground. She still experienced a dark thrill when she thought of his terror, tasted the sickening tang of blood in her mouth, cringed at the echo of his dying screams- and none of it belonged to _her_. "His death had meaning, it was... it was _personal_. Anyway, also last night, a bus driver was attacked outside school in exactly the manner I 'imagined'. I think I dreamt of the Alpha's movements, and figured that you would want to know- because _I_ don't know what to do about it." It vexed her somewhat to confess aloud how lost and unprepared she was with the whole connection to the Big Bad Alpha thing, but not enough to stop her from admitting it.

Derek's expression had remained tactfully blank as she painstakingly spilled her dilemma. "I'll go check on the driver in the hospital," he finally stated, after a lengthy drawn pause that'd had her foot tapping and thumbs twiddling in nervous impatience. "See what I can find out. If he and the Alpha have history then we need to know about it. And you have to go back to the bus. Go inside. See it, _feel_ it. Let your sight, your smell, and your touch tell you what happened last night."

"So, you want me to use my spidey-senses on the bus to detect what happened?"

His eyes narrowed substantially, meaning he was either glaring at her for her absurdity or he thought that was how people smiled. Speaking from experience, and his following response, she suspected it was probably the former, "No, you idiot, I want you to _remember_. For your 'dream' to have felt so real, you must have actually been there- whether you attacked the driver or not."

Fantastic. Get Stiles in on it, and the three of them would make one hell of team.

She clasped her hands together, and bowed slightly at the waist, "Yes, master Yoda." She caught sight of the roll of his eyes just before he slammed the door in her face. Rude.

* * *

Night had fallen, the dark invaluable in concealing Stiles' jeep, and its two occupants, from the sight of the surveying police who must've suspected that the killer would return to the scene of the crime. The school was much creepier in the dim light cast by the street lights dotted around. Pulling up, Stiles and Quinn both clambered from the blue vehicle and started for the chain-link fence surrounding the school grounds. Before they could leap up however, Quinn grabbed a hold of Stiles' elbow, halting him. "Oh, come on, don't do this to me," he hissed before she could say anything, equal parts frustrated and exasperated. "Don't make me the guy in the van who always keeps a look-out. I don't wanna be Robin while you're off being... well, not Batman, cause you're a girl, but you catch the drift I'm throwing out here."

"I was just, uh..." Quinn stumbled, mouth slightly agape, having not expected Stiles' abrupt outburst and dramatic arm-waving. She gestured to the top of the fence with a hand, "I was gonna say be careful not to get snagged on that piece of wire." He honestly thought she would be doing this without him? Nonsense. When they did something illegal, they always did it together. While Stiles stalled on an 'um', she laughed, smacked him on the back and reached up to secure her fingers so she could climb over the fence.

Stiles swiftly followed suit, and they both hit the restricted ground on the other side at the same time. Yeah, they were veterans at this type of thing. Instinctively, unthinkingly latching her hand around his soft clammy one, Quinn led the way to the bus, the two of them ducking their heads so as to avoid being seen by any patrolling cops. She slipped inside the wrecked bloody bus first, struck abruptly by the remembrance of her 'dream'. Damn Alpha bastard messing with her head. Like her teenage hormones and new werewolf anger management issues didn't do that enough already.

When she stumbled slightly, made nauseous and shoved off-balance by the recollections, Stiles quickly caught her arm. "You okay? If you faint, I can't promise I'll catch you."

"Oh, yeah, I'm brilliant. Just that Vulcan mind-melds with psychotic Alphas aren't nearly as much fun as they've been cracked out to be. And you'd better damn well catch my dead weight- and no, I am not admitting to being fat so shut your face." Sliding her fingers around his again, Quinn reached out with her free hand, placing it gently on the smooth fabric of the chair closest. Closing her eyes, the images, both familiar and foreign, implanted themselves to her eyelids immediately. Just as Derek had instructed, she focused on her senses, let it all come back to her.

_Someone was calling for her, calling forth her wolf; not a voice, not a growl, but more than a mere feeling. It clawed deep into her, hooked into her animalistic nature, yanking on it until all she could see was red- and a location. Leaping from her bed, she didn't pause to even grab a jacket before launching herself out her open window, feet first, landing in a roll that she sprinted away from. The neighbouring houses and the streets flew by in a blur, and she didn't slow until she arrived at the designated area to answer the call. She dragged her claws along the side of the school bus, scratching the paint, alerting __**him**__ to her presence. He was close._

_There were cries from inside the vehicle, screams of pain and snarls of triumph. Who would she help? Her wild feral bestial half ached to join in, to unite with the Alpha- __**her**__ Alpha- in a kill, to solidify their bond in blood. But the limited humanity still screaming and scrabbling inside her mind cautioned that if she did this, Stiles would never think of her in the same way again. No longer his best friend, just a murderer._

_Her choice was made by the time she stepped into the bus. The man was on the ground, screaming, reaching out for a saviour, for her, as the Alpha ravaged the skin of his ankles, dragging him back into the thresher maw of jagged teeth and tearing claws. The Alpha was a large, terrifying killing machine on two legs- furry and demonic as the night he'd bitten her, but more of a man than a wolf this time. But the man under his animalistic weapons needed her help and so, as seemed par with her as of recent, she did something reckless and sincerely stupid. She launched herself at the demonic wolf's face. It might've not been the best action for her but it saved the man's life- at least for one more night._

_She rammed straight into the Alpha, but he was faster and stronger- and she yowled in pain and ire as he smacked her heavily against one of the windows, causing it to shatter from the force, before he flung her against the back of the bus. The power behind the throw sent her right through the emergency door, nearly breaking it right off its hinges. Grunting as the gravel scratched and bruised the exposed skin of her arms and knees, she recovered quickly and hurried back as the Alpha prowled calmly from the bus on two legs, talons on his two 'feet' drawn and scraping along the cement._

_Blood gushed steadily from a gash torn into her side by a serrated edge of metal on the damaged bus. It would heal, although it made her head woozy._

_Speedily climbing to her feet, she was the first to restart their brawl; hard-headed and affronted by his effortless bat of her away. The second attempt went just as successful as the first. One of his large strong clawed hands wrapped around her bicep, the other fisting in her hair, and he slammed her face-first into the back of the bus, resulting in a sizeable dent in the metal. Dazed, with a broken nose for sure, she was incapable of defending herself against his following assault- driving her into the ground and skewering his talons deep into the muscles of her stomach._

_Choking on a agonised shriek and the blood gushing from her nose and both up and down her throat in unison, she regained her senses several minutes later, only to find herself alone. The Alpha had put her down like a naughty dog before booking it out of there. He hadn't killed her, not even when faced by her rebellion and insolence. Dragging herself from the bloodstained asphalt- her blood having mixed with the driver's, splattered and lashed sickeningly across the interior and exterior of the bus- she was too out of it to call for the police or an ambulance for the dying man, only coherent enough to stumble home, nursing her slowly-healing wounds._

When she finally returned to her mind on the present day, Quinn was startled to find herself dropped to her hands and knees. All fours, much a dog, funny enough. Stiles was crouched in front of her, looking worried and freaked, and sighed in fidgety relief when her stare finally refocused upon his. Quinn and Stiles both sat back, leaning against the seats. "It was the Alpha," she told him, exhausted from the phantom pain still clawing at her insides. "He tried to eat the driver, I played the Good Samaritan and nearly died for my trouble. Lot of this blood is mine," she gestured to the stained walls of the bus and Stiles gave it a grossed-out once-over.

"Why would the Alpha want some random bus-driver dead? Public transportation sucks but not enough to go mental."

She banged her fist against her knee, closing her eyes and trying to recall her reasoning. "It felt like," she stalled, tried to find the words to articulate, "... a rite of passage into, I don't know, adulthood. The pack. Like if I killed alongside him, I would be closer to the Alpha. A pact of loyalty, spilt in blood and death. Romantic in a not-at-all sort of way."

"But you didn't do it," Stiles stated, smiling now. "Which means you're not a killer."

"Nope," Quinn concurred, gaze focused on something both incoming and concerning. A _light_ from outside the bus. "Just a trespasser." When Stiles shared her sight, they both hurried to stand and exit the bus. Except, the light was too close and gaining on Stiles' car. They wouldn't be able to climb the gate nor jump in without being seen and subsequently nabbed. The cop with the flashlight was coming quicker as he heard their stumbling steps. Damn it. What to do, what to do- there wasn't a place to hide he wouldn't see them, their capture was imminent and unavoidable. But the circumstances could be managed.

Barely even a second left before being caught, Quinn grabbed a hold of Stiles, pushed him up against the side of the bus and kissed him.

So it was terribly cliché and someone else could've thought up a hugely more creative excuse of being there in the middle of the night, but Quinn wasn't nearly so inventive, and the classics were sometimes the best- and she was seriously losing her train of thought when faced by her best friend's astoundingly talented mouth. After a brief moment of surprised flailing, brown eyes wide and staring into hers, he'd caught on and played the role exceptionally well.

Her hair had been pulled up into a ponytail and his usually clumsy hand took full advantage of that, fingers slipping adeptly under her feminine chin to curl around the side of her exposed slender neck. Her own ran down the back of his cropped softly bristled hair, the other desperately clutching the hem of his jacket.

She hadn't meant for it to be quite so _passionate_, just a quick chaste peck on the lips held until it fooled the guard- but good _Gods_, Stiles was a ridiculously fantastic kisser. While neither were kiss-virgins, they'd never tried it with each other and even though it failed to conjure up romantic feelings, it was certainly a most stunningly pleasurable experience. One interrupted far too soon by said guard the kiss was instigated with the desired attempt to hoodwink. He flashed his flashlight into their faces, and they immediately broke away from each other by a step.

"Oh my God," Quinn muttered in pseudo embarrassment, while not actually having to fake her breathlessness. She fussed with her make-up and hair, acting the character of a horny teen quite convincingly.

"This is a restricted area," the officer decreed, lowering his torch. He was one of those few brought in from out of town. Thank Gods. No resident cop would've fallen for such a thing, knowing Stiles and Quinn as well as they all did. "A crime scene," he reiterated as though she was too thick to understand the first time.

She feigned horror and mortification, surveying their surroundings with escalating degrees of shock. "I am so sorry, we didn't know. The gate wasn't locked," lie, "and we just graduated last year," they could both easily pass for nineteen, "so we thought that we would, you know... _relive the glory days_," she whispered suggestively. She curled a finger around a lock of hair and bit her bottom lip coyly, just in case he didn't get the hint.

He did. "Oh, well, uh..." aw, adorable, he _blushed_, "just don't make it a habit, okay."

"Of course not, officer," Stiles spoke up, walking forward to take Quinn's hand and start for his car. "It'll never happen again. Well, I mean, it might happen but not _here_. Sorry. Have a nice night."

The padlock on the gate was a twig under her inhuman strength, and they slipped out, hurrying into the car and their seats. Stiles quickly pulled out, turned the jeep and started toward the bowling alley for their group bowling date. "That was close," Quinn grinned, and she and Stiles shared a somewhat-hysterical bout of laughter. Some probably would've just edged around the border and skated right past the concurring awkward drawn-out silence or stumbling conversation stuttered through uneasy lips- but nothing was uncomfortable between them and she just forged right on into it. "And, Stiles, you are one _hell_ of a kisser. You want Lydia to fall in love with you, just lay one on her. She'll be yours forever."

"And what does that say about you, Queen?"

She stalled briefly at the old childhood moniker. It was comfortingly familiar but had been mostly forgotten, since he hadn't addressed her as such since they were preteens. She'd been a bit of a bossy kid, and he'd taken to calling her Queen- given the close relation to her actual name- in a harmless mocking manner, also due to the fact she'd gone through a phase of refusing to call him Stiles as he'd always preferred and requested- as in, outright refusing to respond to any other name. Which, yes, meant she _did_ actually know his real name and, yes, had dedicated an entire month of her youth to learning how to pronounce it without stumbling or inserting the wrong syllable.

"Sorry, love, I'm taken. I've given my heart to far too many fictional men and been burned every time." Alas, too true, and so heart-breaking.

* * *

The bowling date went considerably well. Allison did end up inviting Isaac, who had the strangest tendency to make a smart-mouth remark before falling immediately silent, looking reproached and vaguely terrified like they were liable to smack him for it. Allison seemed to find it simply adorable and took it upon herself to cheer him up afterwards and urge him gently out of his withdrawn state. Lydia had started out pretending to be useless for the benefit of Jackson's ego- which was sweet if a bit ridiculous- but, once it'd been discovered that Danny and Stiles were serious competition, she'd amped up her game, knocking down several strikes in a row. Too completive to gracefully bow out, Quinn- a relatively average bowler under previous circumstances- accessed her inborn werewolf powers to bowl a near perfect score- which, in turn, roused Jackson's suspicions.

Naturally, Stiles and Quinn's two-man team was the winner, resulting in his very animated celebratory dance. Danny and his on-the-rocks boyfriend Erik were second, and Jackson and Lydia would've been had she not pretended to suck in the beginning. Meanwhile Allison and Isaac had been far too busy talking and connecting to bother pay attention to their scores. They just threw the ball and went back to the other without bothering to check how many pins had fallen. It was all very adorable to witness.

The thing that brought down Quinn and Stiles' good mood was when they heard word that Garrison Meyers, the driver, had died from his injuries.

Immediately, she skipped the after-bowling-dinner and sprinted all the way the Derek's house in the dark. The decrepit door was already open, so she just barged on in without knocking. He was perched on an old couch in the living room and Quinn stopped in the entranceway, a little thrown at the sight of him. She'd never seen him sit before and, a bit ridiculous as it may be, she'd never imaged that he required any respite of the kind. Such a normal thing to do, when he'd always seemed so... untouchable. She seriously needed to stop placing him on a pedestal. "What happened?" she questioned, shaking it off, getting to the matter at hand.

"He died."

For once, it was _her_ doing the eye-rolling. Damn monosyllabic responses. "Well, obviously. I didn't come to accuse you of finishing the Alpha's effort. I meant, did anything else noteworthy occur. Did you find any inkling of a motivation behind the attack?"

It didn't constitute as any sort of clue behind the purpose driving the Alpha, but... he'd _known_ Derek, his name, and for some unspoken reason he was _sorry_, whatever that meant. Sorry enough that it had been obligatory to be repeated several times, for it to be his final uttered word. Derek had already decided he wouldn't tell her. They might've been working together to track down the Alpha but that didn't mean he was obligated or compelled to trust her- he didn't, and this was personal, not at all any of her business. Their civil collaboration was a means to a shared desire for an end to the Alpha's rein of blood and murder, not one instigated nor maintained from trust or loyalty or companionship. It was just _business_... or so he told himself, as he lied to her face, "I couldn't question him, he wouldn't wake."

She nodded, seemingly accepting his words. His stare turned sceptical. She couldn't actually belief his utterly fabricated answer, just like that, could she? But her eyes were wide and unassuming on his, and as he held her gaze, a little befuddled smile flittered over her slightly-too-wide lips. As always. She was a constantly smiling, _trusting_ little wolf. Willing to help him when it hardly benefited her in the slightest. Peculiar.

"Well then, my day proved to be a great deal more fruitful than yours," Quinn's smile became more of a smirk, as she leaned her shoulder up against the scorched crumbling wall to her left. She crossed her arms over her chest, the faux-leather of her jacket stretching accordingly. "You were right- I know, big shocker- when you said that the Alpha wants me, and I'm quite flattered in a seriously creeped-out way. It's possible he attacked the driver... because he wanted _me_ to kill him." Derek sat up straighter, as he caught on. Clearly, the ritualistic behaviour was a wolf custom. How riveting. "It was- _weird_," she didn't know how else to put it. "It's like he dove _into_ me- not like that, get your mind out of the gutter-" he shot her a dark _I-am-not-amused_ reproaching look, and she smiled unapologetically, before carrying on, "and dragged out my wolf side, so I would join him in an almighty feast. Bus-driver kebab with extra curry on the side. I said no with muzzle velocity, he batted me around, but ultimately left me alive- probably to try for seconds at a later date."

She'd attacked the Alpha without back-up and absolutely no chance of winning. Of course she had. Why wouldn't she do that? Given her past habit of spontaneous suicidal violence, Derek couldn't find it in himself to be surprised. "Alphas have the power to do that. They have near unlimited control over their Betas' bestial side. Their roar can have it called upon or settled at their immediate convenience. Sometimes they can even communicate telepathically. Not so much with words, but with impulses."

"Fantastic," she muttered, sarcastic without bite. She still possessed a slight upturn to her mouth. "What lesson is that- sixteen hundred? Just how many rules are there?"

"Over nine-thousand," Derek answered- and a muted, surprised breath escaped her at his meme reference, and almost teasing tone. Her silent astonishment was swiftly overcome with a broad enthusiastic grin. Good. The man needed to lighten up. Frowning so much, while exceedingly handsome, couldn't be good for his health. "If the Alpha is already targeting you, then we'll need to sped up the schedule. Come here straight after school tomorrow."

"Oh, Derek, you know I get all tingly when you take control like that." Had she said that aloud? Judging by the look on his gorgeous face, she had. Oh, well, had to be said. "But I have a job, remember?" Clearly, he didn't care. "I'll work around it. At this rate, between the Alpha and you and the Veterinary Clinic, I'm gonna either be pulled into three different people, die from sleep deprivation or flunk school. Fortunately, I've already done this year twice before so I guess that by now I should be an expert."

The Alpha was being a serious nuisance in her everyday life, but, hey, if she and Derek didn't stop him, who would? Truth be told, Quinn's motives behind hunting her sire were few and, while they could be considered unselfish, not precisely honourable. Sure, he was killing people and killing him would save several more lives but, while it made her sound like an unfeeling bitch, that didn't offend her as much as it probably should have. They probably hadn't deserved their ends but she hadn't known them personally. And _that_ was the exact reason he had to be stopped. Because soon, the attacks would escalate, involve the people she loved, and that must been prevented at every cost- even her high-school career. And he'd killed Derek's sister for whatever reason too. And, for every helpful-if-bothersome lesson he crammed into her brain, she owed him one more. At this rate, the tally was seriously one-sided. Hopefully, after defeating the Alpha, Derek would consider them even and her debt squared away.

There was one other reason for Quinn to be hunting the Alpha- because she _wanted_ to. Because this, hunters and werewolves, was dangerous and invigorating and it all felt vaguely unreal. She'd known, heard, told stories- old fables and myths and movies and books and games- of seemingly ordinary teens being swept up in an adventure, uncovering secrets and discovering themselves and perhaps finding a bit of love along the way. A childish perspective most certainly, but life now seemed too dull without the supernatural guiding it. Quinn's desire to experience wonders and pains and the mystical urged her onward, and with her mentality influenced and her ideals becoming irrevocably altered in such a way... she couldn't go back to the old, domestic, _human_ ways. She didn't want to. She needed _this_.

"We'll get him," she told him, assuredly. Not that she believed Derek would ever require confidence or coddling from her. He had a goal and the determination and drive to see it through to the end, however that went. "So," Quinn stood straighter, grinning away, "shall we practice werewolf fisticuffs, Captain Teach, if the need is so great?"

* * *

**So, yes, I confess that the Stiles-Quinn kiss originated from everyone's- oh, don't deny it, nobody believes your blatant lies- shared desire to kiss Stiles Stilinski. But it was also to cement to you all the nature to their relationship. It's not romantic- much as they might joke- but they've definitely never been nor will ever be like siblings. He's not like her brother, he doesn't think of her as a sister either. They're just Best Friends- well, and partners in crime. I guess you would categorise it as a 'Bromance'- she is, after all, just one of the boys.**

**I planned to post the episodes Pack Mentality and Magic Bullet as one whole long chapter, but instead just thought to give you this and then the other in a couple of days hopefully.**

**So, yeah, hope you liked it. Sincerely, Princely Archer. :)**


	3. Magic Bullet

**Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf nor anything connected to it, except for Quinn McCall.**

**Hi there, again.**

**Twibe: I read your review, I read all the reviews actually. I just wanted to let you know that I don't like Jennifer either, and I haven't really got much plans for that far on yet, so who knows what'll happen. I know she ****will**** be in it as the Darach- this story does, after all, following along the cannon route if not the exact path-, but probably not as a pseudo-ally. She'll possibly show an interest in Derek, but I don't yet know how he'll react... probably not even remotely caring, given that his relationship to Quinn will have advanced by a significant margin by then, drawing his attention, as well as Cora and the Alpha Pack and all the other madness going on. And Quinn will likely hate Jennifer too, given that Quinn has many of the same attitude and thoughts as I do- it's where I get my inspiration. Me! Hope you keep reading and keep enjoying. :)**

**Just so you know, I'm already five thousand words into 'The Tell'.**

**Hope you like, and review if you care to. I'm still really kinda nervous on if people actually like my writing, when I'm not so proud of it myself. ;)**

* * *

The following night, Quinn also spent with Derek- no, not in the fun way- but, this time, they were actually pursuing the Alpha, like the insane people they clearly were. Demonic hulking wolf-man and they felt like facing it head on. Seemed like a good plan to her, which naturally meant it was extremely unwise. He'd caught the trail of the beast and, while making haste after it, called her and pretty much commanded she get her ass out of her bed to assist him. Doing just that, they met up and then near instantly split separate ways, aiming to flank and corner the Alpha between the two of them. The Alpha had taken the chase onto the dark empty streets, seemingly stalking something himself, just as they were it. Quinn was already prepared, her golden gaze scanning the road below her as she agilely sprinted and leapt over the rooftops of the overlooking buildings.

Quinn could still, as Derek had predicted, _feel_ the Alpha. He spiritually reached for her even then, called out for her to defend him, to join and fight alongside him. Yeah, that's gonna happen. But she found the capability to turn their bond back on him, use it against him and to her own advantage- to ascertain and pinpoint his exact location and follow it. Hopefully Derek had found his own method for doing the same; it was his job to chase the Alpha, to stay close behind him, herd him towards her, while she sped on forward with the intent of trapping him.

She wasn't, per se, nervous. Maybe anxiously excited would be more on the money. But, by the end of the night, the Alpha would either escape so to entice her to kill with him yet again, kill both her and Derek, or would die by her and Derek's hands. None of which were very desirable outcomes. She would either be a werewolf time bomb, dead or a murderer by the next hour. Hmm. Damn the choices and conflictions aplenty. Her musings were swiftly interrupted by a- did that explosive sound abruptly abusing her super-hearing originate from a bloody _shotgun_?!

Struck by surprise, her foot went from under her just as she was preparing to gracefully drop down onto a lower roof, and, instead, she fell and tumbled onto it extremely _ungracefully_. Nursing a bruised arm, she rolled speedily to her feet and leaned her torso off the edge of the building to spy around for the origin of the artillery fire. When there was another shotgun blast and some madman screaming in the streets, she took off running across the rooftops again, briefly forgetting all about the Alpha.

Either this was about gang violence- which in Beacon Hills was seriously unlikely- or someone was shooting at another werewolf. Probably Allison's daddy-dearest. Her friend's dad or not, she would hurt him severely if he shot Derek. The Alpha was fair game, though. Prancing and launching herself over the buildings, she stalled when there was a more subtle noise. Still gunfire but more like a... sniper. With that final sound, she was able to locate where they'd come from- and found herself on the roof directly above a dark haired woman. _Not_ Chris Argent then. Using her vantage point, Quinn immediately noted her model-like physique, practical yet stylish clothing, silky dark locks and gorgeous face of a woman in probably her late-twenties.

At the sight of her, a curiousness occurred. Just her face, those nasty sharp eyes, sent heat blasting through her veins, so dark and bitter that Quinn could feel herself breathing it, in and out, as a revulsion and hatred stronger than any emotion she'd ever experienced before thickly filled her lungs like blood and ink, swirling and convulsing in her gut until she was certain she would be sick if she didn't tear apart this mystery woman _right this moment_. Stunned and blinded by the black abhorrence, Quinn was none-the-less capable of deducing that these feelings were not her own. They were, once again, based from the Alpha's influence. Even knowing this manipulation so she would do his bidding, exact his unknown vengeance in his stead; Quinn, choked up on this bloody impulse for violence, dropped silently down from the roof, landing mere feet behind the unaware woman.

Her golden eyes ominously luminous in the dark, fangs bared and talons poised to tear into the woman's covered skin- Quinn didn't hesitate. Her morals and compunctions that accompanied any urge of murder with her own hands vanished when faced with her endless ire and connection to her Alpha's will. Her clawed hand latched around the woman's toned bicep and she swung her face-first into the brick wall before them. Surprised, but experienced, the woman, dazed, lashed out with a blind backwards jab of her elbow, catching Quinn in the right cheekbone. The powerful blow would've no doubt left a nasty bruise against a regular opponent, and delayed them at least for a moment. But Quinn was a werewolf, and infused with the desired fiery satisfaction of reprisal. A reprisal not her own, but one she felt all the same.

Grabbing a hold of the woman's waist, she shoved her across the damp filthy gavel of the alleyway floor, moving so fast she was almost a blur to crouch down with her knee on the area between the woman's shoulder blades. The woman's rifle had skidded several feet from them and she wasn't nearly so tough without it. Snarling beastly, Quinn prepared to drive her claws forward and tear open the back of the woman's skull at the top of her spine- suddenly, Quinn launched her body into the air in a sideways flip so to avoid the crossbow bolt that'd been fired right at her. Executing one more back handspring to avoid another deadly arrow, she turned and sprinted off. She wasn't about to die for the Alpha's vendetta without even knowing what it was about.

"Chris, don't just stand there gaping like an idiot," Quinn heard the husky tones of the woman she'd just assaulted. Her voice was further darkened with her irritation and wounded pride at being bested, "It's getting away." _It_? So, Argent was there, and apparently knew the mystery woman. Shrouded by the dark of night, Quinn escaped up onto another roof, ducking down so she could still peek back at the hunters. She already hated them both just on principle.

She watched Chris grasp the weapon the woman had retrieved and yank it from her grasp. "Don't be an idiot, Kate. That thing was this close to tearing your head off or turning you." He though Quinn was the Alpha? "Let it go, and get in the damn car."

"That's it? Not even a '_hello_'?" Kate sassed, brushing off her clothes before her hands went to her shapely hips. "'Nice to see you'?"

He scowled, clearly disapproving of her attitude and perhaps even her very presence in Beacon Hills. Then he and Quinn were, for once, in agreement. "All I've got at the moment is 'please put the assault rifle away before someone notices'." Ah, so that was the reason he shot with crossbows. Because he had no idea about artillery- what she had been wielding, what he currently held in his hands, was quite clearly a _sniper_ rifle. Moron.

"That's the brother I love," she countered sarcastically. Siblings, huh? Yeah, she could see it. They really were undeniably similar in their homicidal jackassery. "Chris, there were two of them."

"Yeah, I saw the one besting you. The Alpha, maybe?" Seriously, he thought she was the Alpha? Well, it made sense, she supposed- neither of them had been privy to her golden and certainly not red eyes apparently. So it seemed like a fair assumption.

She seemed reluctant to admit, "I don't know, but- as you saw- one of them just tried to kill me. Ran me off the road, then came back for seconds after I wounded the other." Derek? Or did she mean to actual Alpha? There were only three werewolves out that night and Quinn was certain she hadn't been shot. "Touched a nerve, I guess."

"One of them is gonna lead us to the other. He can't do that if he's dead-"

Kate cut in then, pursing her lips in frustration, "Well, I can't help kill either of them if one of them kills me first." Killing her- what a fantastic plan.

"How long will it take?" Chris sighed, the hard lines of his face making him look older than he was, exhausted and exasperated.

She seemed to gain far too much pleasure from her following reply, "Give him forty-eight hours... if that."

* * *

Full of dread and concern at Kate Argent's parting words to her brother, Quinn spent the remainder of the night searching for Derek. There weren't many places she knew he frequented, mostly just his house which was as vacant as the populace of Beacon Hills believed, and her search remained fruitless. Eventually, she was left with just heading home, getting ready and skating off to school. She'd thought of ditching and continuing her hunt for the elusive Beta but admitted it would probably be for naught anyway. He would find her- if he was still alive. Damn. Naturally, Stiles took immediate note of her wistful preoccupation but, with classes monopolising their time, would only manage to treat her with the Spanish inquisition once they were leaving school.

But, wouldn't you know it, before they could meet up so he could drive her home- from where she would sneak off and, once again, check Derek's house- she literally ran into Allison. In her haste of speedy pacing and rapidly turning her head to search out Stiles- what was with her lately? couldn't find Derek, couldn't find Stiles, damn it- she'd been incapable of perceiving her friend-who-was-a-girl-but-not-a-girlfriend until they'd bashed into each other and spilled her bag and all of its contents onto the floor- Quinn's stuff was only spared as she preferred a backpack over a large purse.

"Ah, damn it. Sorry, Ally, I'm real sorry." Quinn had already kneeled and begun to round up Allison's possessions as they determinedly rolled away from her grasping fingers for a moment, before realising her unconsidered usage of the moniker. Huh. While she might've been out of practice, not having attempted for years past, she was apparently quick to make friends if the comfortable familiarity she felt towards Allison without truly musing deeply upon it was anything to go by.

Allison smiled sweetly as she put her bag back in order from Quinn's unstructured handing her of whatever random item she'd grabbed a hold of. "It's fine, no harm done, and I'll be okay once my heart starts beating again. Why were you in such a hurry, though? Nothing's wrong, I hope." She was so adorable. Like a Hallmark card or Disney princess or something. So unreal.

"Oh, just, you know, looking for Stiles- have to look out for him, make sure he doesn't fall down a rabbit hole into Wonderland, keep him from losing him head. Metaphorically and literally. Anyway, what's up with you? How's, uh, how's Isaac, if you know what I mean. Lots a sex." Words spilled out of her bumbling mouth like a dam with a fissure in the side, gushing out the awkwardness she'd meant to shroud beneath a casual visage. Utter failure. Damn. She ducked her head, hiking her bag strap higher on one shoulder, as the two girls headed to the school exit.

Gods, it was almost sadistic the pleasure she got from embarrassing her friends and family. Allison couldn't even meet her gaze in her mortification, "No, we, uh... no, we haven't, you know... we're taking it slow. We're not even really dating, it's not... like that." Wow, she didn't sound disheartened with her own words or anything of the sort- _sarcasm_. So they didn't classify their cutesy little act during bowling as dating. Then what the hell was? They weren't exclusive so clearly they were in that awkward not-dating part of dating. Hence, they were still technically a couple. Teenagers, honestly, what dramatic pains in the arse they had the habit of being. Not to say she was any better some of the time.

"_Slow_," Quinn singled that words out; testing it on her tongue, clumsily murmuring the foreign thing to herself. "I'm afraid I don't understand the meaning of that term in relation to, well, _relations_." Maybe there was a physical problem. "Does he have a hairy back? small equipment? a third nipple- a nubbin?"

"Oh my God, please stop talking!" How curious, people said that to her quite often. She would have to determine the contributing factor prior to their outburst and do it more often, given how personally hilarious she found their faces were afterwards. "He doesn't have any of those things- I mean, I don't know if he does, not that I'm shallow enough that would be a considerable thing to, you know, consider, I... look, it's not just personal preference. It's also... he's always so hesitant when it comes to touch. I mean, yesterday, I accidently brushed my hand up against his- and he nearly jumped out of his skin."

Well, _that_... wasn't normal. The guy had issues with _Allison_ touching him? Unlikely. Had he seen her? She was beautiful and totally in to him. What was his deal? Maybe... "He's probably just nervous, not used to gorgeous ladies like ourselves wanting to hold his hand." She might've said it assuredly, but she truly wasn't certain. She'd have to look into that. Seemed fishy, meaning some good ole sleuthing could be involved. Maybe it was a bit hasty and presumptuous but she'd never gotten to check out her friend's boyfriend before given that Stiles was- _supposedly_, with his preoccupation with Danny's attraction to him calling it into question; but then, Stiles was just a bit of an absurdity- into girls.

"Quinn, I didn't try to hold his hand- it was an accident." At her friend's sceptical stare, Allison insisted, almost childishly, "It _was_."

"Oh, yeah, it was a total accident," she mocked dumbly. "Come on, you can't honestly tell me that you don't just wanna fist your hands in those silk locks, throw him up against the wall and have your way with him." So, okay, yeah, admittedly she was speaking from personal experience upon such urges that had not been acted upon. Teenaged hormones and a sense of decorum made for an interesting, if not so fun, blend.

Allison reluctantly confessed, "Okay, maybe a little," before quickly amending, "_sometimes_." At Quinn's deprecating shake of the head and roll of her lovely forget-me-not-colour eyes, Allison softly demanded- a contradiction she somehow impossibly made successful, "What's your interest in this anyway?"

"I just think you and Isaac deserve to find happiness." Sappy, but true. "And if you find it together, then that's brilliant. I mean, love-"

"_Love_?"

Alright, too soon, fair enough. How unlikely to find a love that's true and genuine and more than a juvenile fling in high school anyway. "Like, then- like doesn't _have_ to be complicated. In the profound words of Caroline Forbes; boy likes girl, girl likes boy- _sex_. Youth really isn't that hard." Truth be told, deep down, Quinn thought herself a really bad teenager. From what she'd seen on TV and heard gossiped across the halls, teens were supposed to be caught up with boyfriend or girlfriend trouble, or failing horribly in their exams, or something else just as hip and bothersome and melodramatically blown out of proportion- when really her life wasn't that complicated at all. So, okay, there was the whole werewolf thing, and Derek being missing and possibly dying or already dead, and the Alpha trying to kill people, and the hunters gunning to kill her, Derek _and_ the Alpha... but all of that was actually really simple.

"Is sex your answer to everything?" Allison questioned, actually bearing a fond smile and expressing a somewhat bemused hilarity. It was quite the turnabout from the customary horror at her now-mutilated innocence, or annoyance at Quinn's persistent snooping, or even just being good ole exasperated towards all of the above. It was a seriously rare person who appreciated- or, at least, found some brief amusement in- Quinn's bluntly honest mouth and exceptionally crude brain's thought processes.

"Almost everything, but all else has to do with ice cream and donuts," she responded flippantly, shrugging a shoulder. Then, to mix things up, holding her historical character of unpredictability, she added, in a dollop of sincerity and wisdom, "But, Allison, it goes without saying but I'm gonna say it anyway- that it is _your_ choice. Peer pressure is only for the weak-minded who can't think for themselves, which is something you should pride yourself upon. Wait, don't wait- it's up to you and, to a lesser extent, him." Besides, Quinn was sure that if his daughter ever did get _close_ to a boy, then Chris would blow said pitiable boy away without a second thought. Even if unknowingly, having a ruthless werewolf hunter for a dad must be awesome- again, sarcasm.

"Thanks, Quinn, it's cool having someone to talk to this about. Lydia, of course, but... anyway, I was wondering if you'd want to come over for dinner tonight. Meet my mom- and my aunt just got into town." Dinner with the Argents sounded fun, Quinn supposed- so long as she didn't mind being the hunt-it-yourself dessert. It'd still be more enjoyable than the family dinners her father had actually attended, though.

"Sorry, I have plans with Stiles." Well, actually, training with Derek had been monopolising her nights but, given she had no clue as to where he was... "I'd best go. Just remember, use protection. Nothing rhymes with under-age coitus quite like an STD- well, actually, that doesn't rhyme at all, but you catch my drift." After a salute farewell, Quinn went around a corner to her right, heading for the other end of the car-park than Allison was. Unbelievably, she was then, once more, intercepting in her way to Stiles- by _Jackson_, of all people, this time. Gods, she would've considered it like some kind of a conspiracy had she been a paranoid sort of person- not to say she didn't believe in aliens or government cover-ups, which she totally did. But no tin-foil hats for her, thank you very much.

"Hey, McCall," he addressed, as he strolled up to her. Quinn forced herself to stop in the middle of the corridor so to speak with him. While exceedingly tempting, it would also be incredibly rude to just keep walking and pretending he wasn't there. He looked as pretty and pretentious as ever, as he stopped in front of her. "Just thought I should give you a heads-up that your creep pill-pusher was here looking for you."

Okay, so he could start making sense any time now. She didn't have a 'pill-pusher', whatever that meant, and who would be looking for her anyway? Oh, wait, she got it, "Are you _still_ on that foolishness? I don't do drugs, so lay off the drink, Jack Daniels." Oh, there was an endless collection of colourful and clever adaptations to his name. Next time, she'd go for some form of Hijack- yes, on occasion, she did dedicate some of the limited free-time in her busy schedule to think these things up. That's dedication, folks- and she always aimed to please. Well, if we're being truthful here... _almost_ always. Sometimes she just wanted to throat-punch him and be done with it.

"I don't buy into your little act of being normal when you're quite clearly a bit of a freak, McCall." Oh, that's the way to a girl's heart- insult her. How he ever got a genius high-maintenance chick like Lydia Martin was beyond Quinn's comprehension. Well, once she looked past his well-built frame, stunning blue eyes and a jaw that could cut glass- actually, yep, she could totally understood why Lydia put up with him. Not that she was shallow or anything- yeah, sure. Fantastic, now she was being sarcastic to herself. "Not that I care, because I don't- don't think of this as more than it is, and develop a pathetic school-girl crush on me like when we were kids... but I'm just gonna say that that guy was a psycho, and you would be smart to stay away from him."

Alright, first things first, just to be clear, she'd never had a crush on him, even when they were children. _Never_, got it? Second, cliché much. The blend of her irritation and humour brought upon her heavily-acted melodramatic sarcasm. "Oh, but Jackson, you must understand just how deeply I love you. More than double-chocolate cake, more than that shiny Porsche you drive, more than life itself." She was really getting into rom-com territory here with her ludicrous speech. "We would make a perfect couple, why can't you just see it? Lydia doesn't deserve you, I could be the true love of your life if you would only _see_," at the end, Quinn clasped her hands to her chest- her heart- as she falsely pleaded for Jackson to come to his senses.

"God, you're an idiot," he sniped, as though she was insufferable upon his five senses. Nonsense, she was gorgeous, and he certainly hadn't touched nor _licked_ her- so, okay, maybe only three of five. Or he was just a meanie. "I can literally feel myself getting stupider every moment I stand here with you." Oh, sure, _she_ was the idiot. He'd just said stupider, which wasn't even a real word... was it? "Just give your dealer your home address next time and keep it off the school-grounds, so I don't get caught up in your deranged game of stoner house."

With that, he stormed past her, bumping their shoulders along the way. Hah, dick Alpha move, how fitting. "I don't have a dealer!" she yelled after him, annoyed that he'd gotten the last word. "...and you're not listening anyway," she murmured to herself, before throwing a brief temper tantrum that involved a lot of stamping her little feet and throwing her arms about at random. Once calm, she fixed her hair, and strolled very dignifiedly out the door.

Stiles!

Yes, she did eventually manage to find him without someone getting in her way. And, also, yes, she might have- possibly- screamed him name across the car park when she finally spotted him. And, yes, again, maybe ran across said car park to throw herself into his arms, crying big sobby tears. Well, okay that weeping part didn't happen. But everything else. No crevice occupied with any form of embarrassment, Quinn immediately launched into the Kate-Chris development and Derek's worrisome absence.

"Big deal, he's probably on some kind of a werewolf bender," Stiles wasn't so concerned as she, even after she mentioned Kate's approximation of death, which wasn't so surprising. He hadn't spent as much time with Derek like she had, and admittedly the Beta could be a bit of a wolf jerk, and, actually- Quinn realised in surprise and disbelief- Stiles had only met up with said werewolf grump _once_. "You don't have to keep tabs on him, Queen, you're not his keeper or parole officer- and you're definitely not his doting girlfriend." When Quinn gave a noncommittal shallow nod, too wrapped up in her thoughts to offer up a proper response, Stiles freaked- with a panic and protectiveness that wasn't so uncommon for the Stilinski teen, "Oh my God, tell me you're not dating that psychopath."

Well, the boys would never get along if Stiles kept calling Derek names. "Stiles, he's not a psych-" she tried, as they hopped into his jeep.

"-you didn't deny it!"

Quinn rolled her eyes at his ridiculousness, but acquiesced; sincere, but almost robotic, unconvincing, "I am not dating Derek, I am not his girlfriend." Then, in a jest, just to mess with him, "Our love is more of a forbidden one. He's my teacher, it would be inappropriate. The exact same reason that Harris and I only spent the one night together an age ago." Damn, she'd just made herself feel ill again.

"Ugh, stop, stop!" Hah, twice in one day. She was _on_ _fire_- Quinn stalled at that thought, experiencing an inexplicable sickness that was decayed and wrought with fear and hatred and desperation. Sensations and memories rose in her, choking her throat closed, a rock fisting in her gullet. She squeezed her eyes tight, tried to shut out the unfamiliar recollections inked and scarred into her brain- failing; lost, trapped. Clawed finger scrambling frantically, futilely, against stone, mortar, wood; there was heat, steamed air, blasting against her face, flooding and suffocating her nose and her mouth, watering her eyes- no, not hers. She'd never been in a fire. This wasn't her, yet it was her held helpless against the images, these horrible vivid hallucinations. As her sight went black, and her lungs failed and filled with ash and soot and gas, and a dreadful burning mercilessly melted away the brittle skin of her face and hands... Stiles broke through the haze of fire and loathing and hurt and terror. "At this rate, I'm gonna require gallons of bleach and millions of pounds worth of therapy to forget what words you just soiled my brain with," he was saying, and she'd never been so relieved to hear him complaining. "Don't toy with me right now, I'm feeling very vulnerable."

"Why?" she forced herself to speak, and to use a light-hearted tone. Even as she hid her wet eyes behind a curtain of her wiggly brown hair, and clawed her blunt nails across the unblemished skin of her left hand. She allowed herself one moment to swallow thickly against screams of rebellion and agony from a nightmarish time she'd never lived, before teasing Stiles, "Is Lydia wearing a shorter skirt than usual today?" A single tear she didn't understand the origins of tread its path down her left cheek and she quickly, but nonchalantly, swiped it away, lifted her forcibly-dry blue eyes to her best friend's brown-hazel ones. Not giving anything away, even to him. Couldn't have him worrying when she didn't even know why she was suddenly so solemn, so scared.

"Yes, but that's not the point," he was looking at her strangely. Like he suspected something was wrong, an intuition that'd been born from their life-long companionship, but she bore only an air of amusement and a little bemusement, originating from his stare, that succeeded in tricking him into believing her portrayal of mental and emotional health. "The point is," he returned his eyes back to the road, as they'd pulled out a moment ago, and he made his way to the exit of the school car-park, and, "-oh my God, Derek!" He slammed down on the brake.

Quinn, startled by his abrupt outburst, followed his stare out the jeep's front windscreen- and, sure enough, there was Derek, standing slouched in an injured fashion that had concern blossoming in her chest, and holding out a hand towards them as though attempting to access the power of telekinesis to stop their vehicle before they could run him over. And then, before their disbelieving stares and gaping mouths, he collapsed; falling backwards onto the asphalt with a muted groan and soft thump. Oh, Gods. In unintentional unison, Stiles and Quinn leapt from the jeep, ignoring the various car horns beeping irritatingly behind them. Their impromptu pause was holding up traffic, yet neither found it in themselves to care; too shocked, confused and, in her case, worried. While Stiles stood, close by but off to the side, Quinn knelt with Derek and reached, unthinkingly, for whichever of his hands was closest to her. It was _wet_. "What's happening?" she questioned no louder than a mumble, her voice stolen from her as she surveyed her hand, stained with his blood, in unconcealed horror.

"I was shot," Derek breathed, as quiet as Quinn, though his was born from feebleness and anguish. He darted his dulled green eyes across the uncharacteristic fearful expression painted across her pretty face, and found himself surprised by the longing for her customary smile that, under typical circumstances, made him uneasy. Made him uncertain as to her continued safety, feel resoundingly guilty for putting her in the Alpha's line of fire. He possessed no words to comfort her now. He was dying. She spoke no question or comment in response, spouting no stupid game or movie reference, only clenched her bloody hand; so he forged on, "I can't heal. It was-" he struggled, swallowed back bile or blood, "it was a different kind of bullet."

"A _silver_ bullet?" Stiles cut in, full of childish excitement and hope.

Derek rolled his gaze up to him, mentally anguished. "No, you idiot." He had come to _these two_ for help? God, he was doomed.

"You should have, like... a day and a half left," Quinn stumbled out, before closing her eyes briefly and exhaling harshly, frustrated with herself. She told herself to get a grip, focus on being helpful, save Derek, do whatever it takes. She would _not_ break down. She would hold it together, she had to be productive and not weepy. She was no use to him when paralysed with terror at the possible outcome of his illness. He was slicing through her with a dark, suspicious stare when she lifted her eyelids once more. Wondering how she knew that. "Last night, Kate Argent shot you. She said you would have forty-eight hours which leaves you with about thirty," she explained, in a rough confident voice. She met Derek's eyes with an intense determined stare, "How do we cure you?" She refused to accept that he'd come just so she could watch him die.

Approving of her emboldened attitude, Derek went to answer- before his eyes flared an unnatural blue, and his fangs snapped together. Quinn flinched back slightly in her surprise, not too far, her breath stalling in her chest. Derek snarled quietly, dragged his extended bloody claws across the road below him. He couldn't control the wolf. Stiles stepped forward, his eyes flashing over their surroundings, "We've gotta get him out of here before someone sees him go all Lon Chaney Jr." He caught Quinn's glance his car, and quickly rebelled, "No, no. Not my car. He's gonna ruin my lovely torn-up seats in my piece of car jeep."

Shooting him a disapproving look for his tactlessness, and a furrowed brow for his adamant attitude to protecting his crappy car, she wrapped one of her slender arms around Derek's upper back, ducking under his shoulder, and using her wolf strength to haul him to his feet. Even through the materials of his shirt and jacket, she could feel the heat radiating from him- too hot, like he was running a fever. Working at an animal clinic, Quinn knew animals, and that wasn't good. Despite with her supernatural muscle, it was a struggle until Stiles gave in and assisted her in lugging Derek into the passenger seat of the blue jeep. While Stiles hurried around to jump in the drivers' side, Derek spoke to Quinn, who'd stayed outside, through the open window, "I need you to find out what kind of bullet they used. I can't treat it if I don't know what it is that's killing me."

And he's certain it's not silver? Wait, hold on, back up a sec. "You want me... to break into the home of werewolf killers, rummage through their stuff and grab a bullet poisonous to our kind, all the while not getting caught as that would result in my death and, by proxy, yours?" That was just the kind of insane act that would have him calling her an idiot had she concocted such a plan. Which, admittedly, she was, considering how eager the prospect of a B&E against the hunters made her. Even if not a full-out assault, this was going to be awesome; total spy-work. And, obviously, saving Derek's hide.

"Yes," Derek ground out through his pain. It was getting worse. She would have to move quickly. "How hard is that to grasp, McMoron?" Oh, he said it anyway. First Jackson, now Derek- was it Be A Jerk To Quinn Day or something, because that was not a holiday she had any desire to participate in.

She scowled hard at him for a long moment... before grinning wolfishly, "Sounds like fun." His half-lidded stare on his usually alert frowny-face and pained wheezing breaths robbed her smile away as quick as the ruthless flames had licked at her skin. Her expression became a contrite look, and she held to her affirmed motto of boldness and bravery, as she reached out to grab a hold of his firm right arm, up at the elbow. "You're gonna be okay, Derek," she made herself look into his darkened eyes. "I'm gonna fix this. Trust me," giving a final little grin, "and be nice to Stiles," she turned and sprinted off.

"I hate you so much for this!" Stiles yelled after her.

* * *

Considering she had next to no clue as to where it was, Quinn got lost on her way to the Argents' house countless times. It was getting dark by the time she finally found it, and Chris' car was already in the driveway. But Allison's window was open, and she wasn't about to pass on the opportunity. But she stood on the grass below, hands on her hips, assessing the situation for a moment. That was _really high_, she wouldn't be able to leap it. Whatever it takes to save Derek, she'd meant that. Yanking it from her shoulders, Quinn carelessly dropped her beloved faux-leather jacket onto the damp ground, before unzipping the red hoodie she wore and shrugging it off too. This left her in a simple black camisole tank, baggy light-blue jeans, and red trainers. Moving forward, she reached up with her hands, planted her foot on an indent in the brick- and scaled the outside of the house. Despite not being an expert at rock-climbing, the experience wasn't too difficult, although she was panting a little from exertion when she finally dropped in through Allison's window and her fingers were riddled with several little slices, the skin bruising an ill yellow already.

Trying to make as little noise as possible, Quinn moved her way into the hall, and froze when she heard voices. From downstairs. She was good, it was just a regular ole family dinner... with werewolf hunters. Fun. Tiptoeing down the corridor, her fingertips drifting across the smooth plaster wall on her right, reckoning that it would be clever to start with the doors at one end of the hall rather than just peeping in at random. The first door led to a closet, the second to the bathroom, and the third must've been occupied by Chris and his wife both. She started picking through their drawers, shuddering when she came to the underwear section. Closing that drawer quickly, she leapt in surprise as her leg started to vibrate violently. Her phone was ringing. Yanking it out, she flipped it open and held it to her ear, hissing under her breath, "_What_?"

"Dude, why are you whispering?"

Quinn resisted a face-palm, keeping her voice measurably quiet, "Because I'm snooping, Stiles!"

"Well, that's weird and pervy and all, but what am I supposed to do with him?" _Him_- well, it was better than psychopath. As Stiles spoke, she left Chris' room and entered the next, which must've been the guest-room that Kate was using, if the suitcase stored under the bed was any indication. Hurrying to the side of the bed, she kneeled down, grabbed the case and yanked it out. "And, by the way, he's starting to smell," she paused, rolling her eyes, both exasperated and humoured in equal measure.

She sighed out a brief gust of air, impatient, a bit frantic, "Stiles, everyone smells all of the time when you're a werewolf. _You_ smell. Like... red bull, pepperoni pizza and hyperactivity. Be more specific." Smells could tell you a lot about a person, she'd found since becoming a wolf-woman. Specifically just how unwell they are.

"Yeah, but... hyperactivity, really, you can smell that?" he questioned, getting a bit off topic.

"_Focus_, Stiles, love. Dying werewolf in your passenger seat." Trapping the phone between her left shoulder and ear, Quinn used her free hands to unzip the suitcase, throwing the lid back. Inside was exactly what you'd expect; scarves, weird and remarkably ugly fur boots probably made from werewolf hide if the owner was anything to go by, toothbrush. And an old, scratched-up black box that immediately roused her curiosity, her suspicions and hackles raised. Whatever was in that box was sending off some majorly bad vibes, and her wolf didn't like it. Goosebumps settled upon the bare skin of her arms. Her fangs poked at her lips, golden irises glowing.

Stiles' voice spoke in her ear again, pausing her once more, before she could crack it open. He sounded both calm and seriously freaked at the same time, ""Oh, right, yeah- he's starting to smell like _death_."

"Death doesn't have a smell," she corrected, sounding abruptly, unintentionally, like a smarty-pants. "Corpses do."

"Then he's starting to smell like a decomposing corpse- oh my God, we have to stop saying smell or I'm gonna throw a fit!"

"Stiles, you're already throwing a fit," she rightfully pointed out, before attempting to calm him. He needn't worry. She had this all under control. She'd get the bullet, Derek would heal, and all would be five-star. "Just get Derek to the Clinic- Deaton would be gone by now," Stiles would be able to get in using the key she'd secretly copied for him a year back. "I'll get the bullet. Hustle, gang- we can do this. Give Derek the phone, so we can stay on the line while you drive. For an instant update, press one and hand the cell over to your resident grump werewolf."

"McCall," Derek's deep tenor came through the cell, and she swallowed hard, cringing, as she realised she'd just said that to him. Stiles must've passed over the phone as soon as she'd said it. Whoops. "Have you got it?" the sound of his drained shallow puffs of air, tightened and hurt in her chest, constricted her throat.

"Impatient, much?" Quinn made certain to keep her voice level and light. "Hold on a sec." Speedily, silently, she flipped open the black box... and gaped at the insane assortment of bullets. Short thick shotgun shells, long thin sniper rounds, regular stumpy but lethal pistol cartridges, and- hmm. She picked out a seemingly special little wooden box that was sealed with a simple metal clasp, and inspected the peculiar leaf-like symbol stamped on the front, and the faded words inscribed on the top. "Does _Aconit Napel Bleu Nordique_," the unfamiliar words felt strange, heavy and foreign, on her clumsy tongue, "mean anything to you? I ditched my last dozen Latin classes." For all she knew, it could've meant Prickly Octopus Ink Pancakes, just written in fancy swirls.

"It means..." Derek faltered for a moment, trying to clear his head and think past the haze of choking pain and nausea. "Northern Blue Monkshood," wow, he'd bothered to memorise that? What a colossal waste of good brain-space... then again, given their circumstances, maybe not. She'd have to be sure to remember that. "It's a rare form of wolfsbane." Of course it was, what else would it be? Never regular Pneumonic Plague for us supernatural beasts, thank you very much. "You have to bring me one of the bullets. Right now." Fair enough.

"I'm on it." But, also, why just the _one_ bullet? Quinn was holding a whole box in her capable hands. An impish smirk quirked one side of her mouth, as she pocketed the wooden container, and imagined Kate Argent's face when she discovered her stash missing. When placing the black box back in the suit case, the backs of her fingers bumped cold, hard metal. Hmm. Shoving away some harmless materials, Quinn stalled and blinked at the pistol staring back at her. Thing was stored at the very bottom of the case, clearly not used often- Kate apparently had more of a fondness for the larger weapons. Not one to let such an opportunity go to waste, Quinn gingerly retrieved the gun devoid of ammunition, stored it in the back of her waistband and stole some stray bullets while she was at it. After zipping up the case, and shoving it quickly underneath the bed, she stood- and gasped as her leg, infected with numbing pins-and-needles, went out from under her, leaving her to crash backwards into a standing-lamp.

On the floor, horror flooding her as a loud heavy collision- the lamp falling back to slam against a wooden chest of drawers- echoed throughout the house, Quinn panted in distress. "What was that?" Derek's voice sounded out to her right, abruptly stronger, and she quickly snatched up her phone from the ground.

"I'm pretty sure they know I'm here," she leapt to her feet and yanked desperately at the nearby window. It didn't budge, nailed shut. Damn.

Derek's tone was a gruff mix of frustration and, perhaps, concern for her well-being. Or, rather, worried about what he'd do if she died without getting him the bullet. That was probably it. "Get out of there. Get out of there _right now_!"

"Working on it," she would have to go out into the hall, and she could already hear someone bounding up the stairs. Uh oh. Time to put her bravery- and, more importantly, her speed- to the test. "I'll see you at the clinic." Hanging up on him as he growled her surname probably didn't earn her any brownie points. Storing her phone back in her pocket, Quinn darted to the door... and stared right into the livid, surprised steel stare of Chris Argent. Shit, she thought, her own fear and ire making her language brash and uncouth- at least mentally. She really should've loaded up the pistol she'd stolen with the bullets she'd nicked, at least for some defensive cover fire. She'd never shot a gun before but it couldn't be that hard, right- you just point and shoot, like a camera; which was something else she'd never used before.

A stalemate was held was the briefest of moments, before she shot towards the only escape exit she knew besides the front door- Allison's window- and he leapt up the last few steps. His strong hand grabbed a firm hold on her wrist and, as he went to yank her back, probably to restrain her until Kate could come and finish the job, Quinn had instinctively lashed out, kicking him powerfully in the chest. Chris fell backwards, allotting her just enough time to barge into Kate's room and gracefully swan-dive out the open window.

She didn't land well, crashing down onto the slippery grass, bruising her down the right side and probably fracturing her arm, which she'd landed on. Crying out in pain, but not about to squander the short time before Chris could make chase, Quinn scrambled to her feet, grabbed her jacket and hoodie with her good arm and sprinted in the general direction of the Vet. At least it wasn't raining.

* * *

Quinn was sore, wet and panting when she finally burst in through the doors of the Clinic, and raced to the back- skidding to a stop in the doorway; stunned, confused and gaping at the situation playing out in front of her. Stiles and Derek were on opposite sides of the table; the Beta had shed his shirt- oh, _yummy_... damn, focus- and Stiles had a bone-saw primed to, well, _saw_ through his left arm that possessed a welting bullet-wound with dark veins crawling up towards his shoulder. They'd both stopped when she'd slammed the door open, leaving Derek looking sick and miserable and liable to pass out, and Stiles to stare up at her, fervently relieved and elated, like Christmas had come early and the Four Horsemen had decided not to destroy the world. Huh, that was the weirdest analogy she'd ever concocted before.

And, not to go unnoticed, there was a puddle of anonymous black goo on the floor, the sight of its thick bubbling texture enough to turn her stomach, never mind the God-awful stench oozing from it in disgusting droves. "Oh my God, Stiles, what the bloody hell are you doing?!" she finally exclaimed, swiftly shrugged off her speechlessness. She'd known he didn't hold any fondness towards the werewolf, but she'd never thought he would do something like this. "Don't chop off his arm, I like his arms," right, and that too... and she'd just said that aloud, hadn't she- damn it.

Stiles wheezed out a hysterical laugh, quickly dropping the saw he never wished to see again, "Oh, you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares." As Quinn continued to stare at him like he was insane- rather hypocritical, if you thought about it really-, silently demanding an explanation in a manner he swore she must've picked up from Derek given that he'd never seen it before that night... Stiles pointed an accusing finger at Derek's frail form, "It was _his_ idea. I didn't even wanna do it. I protested until my tongue hurt." When Derek didn't speak up, still slumped over the table, fighting more sickness, Stiles demanded, "Tell her!"

Quinn stepped forward, gesturing with her arms, "He was shot and poisoned in one fell swoop, he's not in his right mind. His brain- loopy, not normal. I'm holding you accountable, Stiles." Well, alright, not really. It wasn't his fault. It was the Argents'.

"Did you get it?" Derek finally intercepted their squabble then because, judging by his petulant scowl, Stiles was preparing another juvenile retort- and Derek would rather die prematurely than listen to another one of those.

Quinn sighed, abruptly morose and apologetic. "No, sorry, couldn't find it, thought I'd come to deliver the bad news, maybe have you sign a DNR- of course I got it, you freak." Damn, Stiles was rubbing off on her with the name-calling. "I got a whole damn box," she yanked it from her pocket and set it on the examination table next to Derek, undoing the clasp and flicking the lid open. "So take your pick. Have several. Whatever. What next? What do we do?" Derek scratched his fingers across the bullets, yanking out a random one.

"I have to, uh..." he shakily held the slug in front of his face, his voice fading away as his eyes drifted shut, "... have to-" Losing consciousness, Derek collapsed, relinquishing the bullet that went skidding across the ground and fell into a grate under one of the nearby storage racks. Didn't matter, they had many. But no idea what to do with them. Stiles and Quinn reacted in kind, both hurrying over to the Beta's side, her on his right.

Stiles lightly smacked Derek's face a couple of times, but his neck just limply lolled to one side. "He's not waking up! Queen, what the hell are we gonna do?" Stiles panicked, sounding almost _concerned_ for Derek, while his best-mate checked the werewolf's pulse. Somehow, it was frenzied and thready at the same time. Seriously not good. Her distress overrode her previous stability, making her hands shake, as she took over Stiles' attempts, smacking harder than Stilinski had.

She shrugged helplessly, "Slap him, punch him, kiss him- I don't know, but we have to get him up."

"_Punch_ him?" Stiles echoed, looking at her like she was nuts.

Which she was. Holding in her breath, Quinn accessed some of her werewolf strength, but not too much as she didn't desire to break his jaw, made a fist as she clenched her teeth... and socked Derek right across his jaw. A jaw that proved to be seriously hard, like punching a concrete wall. But it woke him up, so she called that a win. Linking their hands, Quinn hoisted Derek to his feet, with his and Stiles' help. Grabbing hold of one of the spare bullets, she passed it to Derek, who yanked the top off with his teeth and spilled the innards over the top of the table. Yanking a Zippo lighter from his pocket, he set the crushed-up plant-like substance on fire, causing sparks to flare and ominous blue smoke to rise. Gods, he didn't have to snort or swallow that, did he? That didn't seem hygienic.

Collecting all the ashes in the palm of his good hand, Derek hesitated... and then cupped his hand over the grisly wound, digging his fingers into it so to unlock the best of the 'ointment's' abilities. Quinn cringed, flinching both back and forward, indecisively wavering between her feet, when he screamed at the agony of the act. He collapsed onto his back again, still releasing horrible snarls of anguish, but conscious this time. Quinn and Stiles stood back together, sharing an expression of anxious anticipation, while Derek writhed and jerked and screamed on the floor. Then, before their wide stares, the welt on his arm healed; the dark veins receding, the skin closing up around the briefly-blue-glowing bullet-wound. He was fine, they'd done it!

"That... was... _awesome_! Yes!" Leave it to Stiles, the moron- and she meant that in the most affectionate way possible.

Quinn smiled at the Victory Arm Pump he displayed. "All better?" she asked Derek, who was painstakingly picking himself up off the floor.

"Well, except for the agonising pain?" Well... yeah.

Stiles remarked, a bit cattily, "I'm guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign," and received one of the Beta's infamous glares in response.

While that occurred, Quinn had hopped up onto the examination table beside the discarded saw and Derek's shirt, swinging her legs. "Well, you almost died, I almost died, but ultimately neither of us did. All in all, a relatively successful day, in my opinion," she grinned jovially. Stiles and Derek both skewered her through with confused, suspicious stares. They both immediately knew she'd done something dense, thoughtless and seriously dangerous. "You know, when Chris Argent caught me," she explained casually, as though it was both obvious and not a big deal. "Although, he didn't actually catch me- well, he did, I suppose, but I kicked him off- but he definitely knows my name and that I'm a werewolf, and, get this, he thinks _I'm_ the Alpha. I know, _crazy_, right?"

While Stiles came to terms with her insane ramblings, given how long they'd known each other and that it was exactly the kind of thing she would do- blow off her near-death experience like it was nothing... Derek was less accepting. "You are an insufferably reckless imbecile, McCall," he snarled, as he hauled her off the metal table by her hood. What was he so upset about? Sure, she'd gotten caught and stalled for a brief moment but she still got the bullet. She'd saved him for once, not the other way around. He had no justification for being so grouchy... well, except that his whole family was dead. Damn. "I have something to show you," he told her, releasing her hoodie and shrugging his shirt back on. She quirked an eyebrow in question, and he explained, still with an annoyed tone, "Hopefully it'll hammer some sense through your thick skull."

Violent. "Cool," she voiced. Gazing over to her left, past Derek, Quinn met Stiles' eyes, shrugging, "See you tomorrow?" He looked ready to protest, not trusting Derek with her for a second, but then surprised her by conceding. Before trailing after Derek as he exited out through the back door, Quinn took a glance at the mess on the floor. She would come back later and clear away the glop of black ooze before Deaton could find it. When they emerged into the cool air, Derek stopped, realising. And she did too. "Dude, where's your car?" yeah, she couldn't resist. And she hadn't even seen that movie. "It's at your house, isn't it. Yeah, it's at your house." Looks like they're gonna walk, as it was highly unlikely Derek would get back into Stiles' car, even if just to get back to his own. Maybe it wasn't too far to walk, anyway.

The night was dry and peaceful, with a lovely cool breeze. Quinn stored her hands in her pockets, chewing the skin of her inner lip, staying quiet. The entire trip was spent in silence, the lack of noise setting her on edge. Somehow, it was worse than if Derek had lectured and tore her a new one. What was his problem anyway? She thought over his previous attitude. So, fair enough, he was right; she often took stupid risks but that was nothing new. Why was he so uppity about this time in particular. Oh, maybe he was worried for her given she'd almost died... nah. They might've been spending a bit of time together recently but she didn't expect that he felt any personal ties to her. At least, he never showed any hint of a care in the world towards her, past how well she would do in their inevitable skirmish against the Alpha. He was hard to read and she wondered if it was a Hale family trait.

The hospital was a surprise. Quinn furrowed her brows at Derek, when they finally came to their destination, but he ignored the confusion and curiosity burning in her stare. She cringed briefly, thinking he was taking her to see Laura's body- a sight Quinn would be more than pleased to leave behind her- if it was still even in the hospital, and not buried or cremated. But they bypassed the morgue without a second glance. Eventually, they reached a private room, occupied with a single person. A man, she reckoned, but could make no more judgements as he sat in a wheelchair, facing away from them, and it was dark, the only light originating from the natural luminescence of the moon. He didn't move when they entered, didn't acknowledged their presence at all. Asleep?

Moving a bit closer, more of his face was revealed. He was handsome with a strong chin, blue eyes nearly the same shade as hers, and dark hair that was maybe a bit long- his eyes were _open_. Quinn froze in her steps at the sight of him; not just because he was dreadfully unresponsive, or the vague resemblance between him and Derek... but because she felt like she _knew_ him. From her trips to the hospital to both visit her mom and when she managed to do something stupid and hurt herself? Or, if he was a Beacon Hills resident, then that explained it. Yeah, that was... probably it. When Derek didn't say anything, just standing taciturn at her side, she prompted, "Who is he?"

"My uncle," he murmured, quiet, not looking at her. "Peter Hale."

The name was familiar. Suddenly struck silent, Quinn slowly reached out and placed her fingers against the back of the stationary wheelchair. There was something urging her to look at the remainder of Peter Hale's face, a guiding force in the back of her mind influencing her movements. "He used to be a werewolf," Derek continued, when she didn't speak. "Now he's barely even human. Six years ago, my sister and I were at school... and our house caught fire." The fire Stiles had spoke of. Not an accident, as it'd been determined, then. She rounded the chair slowly, her hand drifting across the arm of the seat, and failed to notice how she held her breath. Just as a melancholy air of trepidation and dread held her captive. "Eleven people were trapped inside. He was the only survivor. It was the Argents." Pausing briefly, Quinn glanced to Derek, wondering how he knew with such certainty. How she believed him with no shred of doubt. "Do you _see_?"

She did. Having finally moved to stand before Peter, horrified tears welled in the corners of her eyes. Quinn had never thought of herself as one who cried very easily, she was more the type to get angry and vengeful, but this... the right side of his face had been _mutilated_, the skin rough and scarred. Forever imprinted with the disgusting acts undeservedly committed against him and his family. Bloody hunters. Slowly, she breathed out, scrubbing her hand over her mouth and she unconsciously kneeled down before Peter, an action that felt both wrong and right. Her own experiences earlier in the day made a comeback, then. The memory of being encased in fire, the terror and agony ripping through her, the helplessness that clung to every desperate attempt of escape... the feel of her skin melting from her very muscles, the heat scorching straight through her veins to reach the bone hidden deep underneath. Were the unfamiliar memoirs another Alpha influence? If so, why the hell was he taking such care to torture her this way? What did this have to do with her joining the Pack? Maybe it was psychological trickery. Implant memories so real she almost forgot she'd never lived them, and then toy with her resulting emotions to have her blindly lash out. It'd worked against Kate after all.

"This is what they do," Derek snarled, catching the intentional swipe at her eyes to dash away the tears rimming her eyelids. His voice commanded her attention, and she looked back over to him. "They say they'll only kill an adult, and only with absolute proof, but there were people in my family that were perfectly ordinary in that fire. And they won't hesitate to do it to you too, to _your_ family."

Quinn's stare returned to the catatonic Peter, tried to imagine her mother or Stiles or the Sheriff in his situation. Her in Derek's. A fire began to kindle in the pit of her stomach, her teeth hurt from how tightly they clenched together, and her head lurched sickeningly with her pounding heartbeat. She wouldn't have been so passive as Derek, so clever and patient to wait for an opportunity for vengeance... if that was what he wanted. All she knew was that he wanted the Alpha dead, probably because of Laura's death- wouldn't he want to take down the Argents too? She would've. "If you don't stop messing them," Derek was lecturing her now, as she rose back to the feet, "they won't let you off with a warning and a smack on the wrist." He thought she didn't know that? She wasn't a child playing war. She knew how serious, how dangerous and uncertain, her future had become since being sired, and she wasn't about to forget the agony and abuse of being shot with a crossbow. But dwelling upon it, being miserable and grim all of the time, just wasn't her style. "They're already prepared to kill you, and if you keep taking stupid risks without thought to the consequences, then those plans will just keep moving up. You won't ever make it to your nineteenth birthday."

"It _wasn't_ a stupid risk," she retorted, firm and assured. "It saved your life, and I went into that house knowing full-well what would happen if I screwed up. Which I did, I can admit that. I wasn't careful enough and Chris Argent nearly killed me. But he didn't, so stop complaining. Yeah, he'll probably try again, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now... we focus on the Alpha," she decreed, only aware of Derek's hard green eyes, and not the intelligent calculating blue ones of the Alpha focused intently upon _her_.


	4. The Tell

**Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf nor anything connected to it, except for Quinn McCall.**

**Hello, ladies and/or gentlemen. Thank for follows and favourites and reviews and taking time to read my adequate story. Sorry it's been a while, I've been caught up with family, school-work, Dragon Age, Final Fantasy X/X-2 HD Remaster, films and TV and fanfics.**

**Also, writing is hard. Particularly, Stiles- I'm just seriously not funny enough for him- and Derek- man, he is hard to get a psychoanalysis on; you actually get a look into his head in this one and it's just my point of view on him, given his tragic past. And I do try my best, as much as that matters, promise!**

**This chapter was frustratingly hard to write, and I'm still not satisfied with it- but it is the longest chapter so far- and possibly ever. *_Shrug_***

**Hope you enjoy, and review if you care to. :)**

* * *

So, alright, maybe Derek had a credible argument in regards to the Argents.

Quinn leapt over a hollow ditch, then ducked under a thick log which was quickly skewered with the bullet intended to incapacitate or kill her. Fine, he _definitely_ had a strong point while she could literally see her own being flung out the metaphoric window, into a wood-chipper and then buried six feet under. Her swift and bloody demise was obviously very high on the hunters' 'To do' list. There were three or four of them after her, from what she could tell, and she wondered when Chris or Kate had called in the reinforcements. Big family. Firing off a couple of shots into the air from her own stolen gun, aiming to have the hunters duck behind cover and slow down their chase, Quinn scrambled swiftly to her feet and took off deeper through the Beacon Hill Preserve, _running_. And she _hated_ it.

She clasped a clawed blood-soaked hand over the bullet-wound in her left shoulder, felt the welting anguish and the beast within her, the proud and defiant wolf, roaring out for retribution. They had harmed her, a harm that would heal but an offense that would neither diminish nor fade away, and it demanded that their blood be spilled in turn. The brutal desire, the hunger that demanded satisfaction, was present in the forefront of her mind, yet still she ran. Away, not towards them. She would not be a killer. She was eighteen, still innocent and unwise in many elements, and was content with the cleanliness of her skin, the pigment of her hands free of blood- _others'_ blood, as they were quite drenched in her own at the moment. The gun felt elusive and slippery in her grasp, and she held it tighter, as her only ranged defence. She refused to become a murderer, but nor would she roll over and allow them to kill her. Her qualms against killing had nothing to object with maiming or disfiguration. Peter Hale's face, vaguely reminiscent of Gerard Butler's Phantom of the Opera, flashed to her mind's eye. And with it came an anger that blinded her, froze and slowed her from her frantic sprint until she found herself standing still in the middle of the forest.

Which turned out to be a giant mistake. Appearing from nowhere, a ridiculously muscled arm flew back into her face, sending her sprawling to the ground. One of the hunters had caught up and, somehow, gotten to drop on her. She might've been a werewolf with exceptional senses but they had been doing this for much longer than she had. And the guy standing over her collapsed form was _huge_. An unusual square head, missing an eye, set upon a thick neck, a broad chest and shoulders, with limbs the thickness of freaking tree trunks. Ah damn.

But she still had her gun. Priming it between her hands, she swiftly fired off a few rounds, aiming specifically for his joints- shoulders and knees. But she hadn't used it before, and given the lack of bullets she'd been loath to practice since stealing it- and only one slug connected, striking him in precisely the same area as she'd been shot. Quinn briefly wondered if he was the one that'd actually hit her, because that would be poetic.

Before she could roll back onto her feet, or kick off the ground to hopefully put a couple of feet between them, Colossus had seized a hold of her arm, with his giant fingers easily eclipsing her limb with a handful to spare, and roughly yanked up her up to her feet. Then he rammed his fist into her face. Tearing the pistol from her weakened grasp, he struck her again. Several times. Until her nose was broken, and blood flooded down to clog in her throat. Blinded, by agonising pain and a dark haze, Quinn regained enough brainpower to jerk her head forward and head-butt the guy. Her mind, already fuzzy as it was, took no further blow, but it worked against the Iron Giant... at least for a moment. Enough time for her to escape from his grasp and leap for her discarded gun. Her shaking fingers brushed the metal that was slick with her blood, but didn't truly manage to make contact before Polyphemus restrained her wrist by stepping on it, crushing the bone. She cried out, her horrible shriek echoing through the forest, unable to hold in the vocals of her suffering.

Flipping her onto her back, the massive hunter kneeled down on her chest, and wrapped his large hands around her neck, thumbs firm on her larynx, choking the life from her. With such strength in even his littlest of his thick stumpy fingers, he could've snapped her neck with the simplest of wrist twitches, but seemed to gleam a disgusting form of perverse joy at her feeble struggles for something so basic as breath. He was all muscle and power with no excess of fat, the weight of a horse collapsing her thoracic diaphragm. The inside of her throat rubbed raw from her suffocated screams, her lungs protesting violently at being denied air, Quinn pounded her fists desperately against those rock-hard shoulders, shoving against him with all her faltering strength, yet still incapable of budging him even an inch. All of Derek's training, all that time he'd spent on her... _wasted_, absolutely for nought. How long would her corpse lay discarded uncaringly in the underbrush, for the more hungry and desperate of the woodland creature to feed upon? How much of her would there be left before Derek or the police or just some unfortunate jogger found her? Or maybe they would do the same as had happened to Laura, sever her in half and display her in the town square in some horrific message.

Throwing her head back, Quinn's fading vision caught sight of the other two hunters, standing there watching, uncaring that their colleague was murdering a young girl before them. All because of her bared fangs and glowing irises. Three hunters, and it'd only taken the _one_. Sickened with herself, at how feeble and useless she was turning out to be, she tried to gather all of her limited muscle and rebellion. She didn't want to die, not here, not to them. Her terror and hatred and panic all gathered within her fist, putting power behind her strike to the side of Hefty Smurf's thick head, while also bucking against his hold, trying to wiggle free. It distracted him, hurt and befuddled him a little, but not enough- so she did it again, and again, and again. With less strength and more ineffectuality each time.

_Please, I'm scared. Please, please, please... don't let me die. Anyone. Help._

Her silent implores, even had they been wheezed out with what little oxygen still clutching desperately to the walls of her damaged lungs, would've fallen upon deaf ears. So she did the only thing she could- reached out with her spirit. Dug deep into herself to grasp the damned connection to the Alpha and turn it back upon him. Not to harm him, but as a plea for assistance. She couldn't save herself, she was incapable of contacting Derek, or Stiles... the Alpha was, ironically, her only hope.

But Quinn held no hope, no expectation, that he would come. There was no logical reason for him to. She was just one disobedient, troublesome girl probably not worth the effort when he possessed the ability to turn anyone into a werewolf, to build an army by biting people left and right- if such a thing was his goal. The more she thought about it, the less she liked her chances of still being alive come sunrise in several hours. As her vision went black, and her exceptional senses and her inhuman strength failed her, she realised that she wasn't even going to make it a couple more minutes. Her mind was too blank, too cloudy and miserable, for her to have one last thought before she lost consciousness under Thickhead's ruthlessness.

Except it wouldn't be her last thought, or final feeling of inadequacy and loathing and fear- because she would regain awakening only moments later, and discover herself splattered and doused thickly with fresh acrid blood and her surroundings strewed with body parts and innards. _Oh Gods_, Quinn panicked as she launched to her feet, before immediately lurching forward again in a sickened crouch. Gasping and heaving for the air she'd been denied, resisting against her gag reflex that'd been activated by the hunter's thumbs on her throat, she clutched at her tender throat and squished ribs, trying to remember if she had done this. Blacked out, her wolf unleashed and unhindered by her human morals, and torn the hunters to shreds.

But there was a dark shadow several feet before her, demonic red eyes staring into hers. The Alpha, bent down on four legs. He'd come for her. Why...?

Relieved and mystified and appropriately grateful, but still so very scared, hurt and woozy, Quinn took quick short steps back, stumbling over her numb clumsy feet, briefly kneeled to grab her gun... and legged it out of there, bolting past severed limbs and blood and gore violating foliage that would haunt her nightmares for a couple of nights to come. Rational consideration, serenity or calmness of thought, escaped her. Shrouded and extinguished by her panic. She'd almost _died._

She ran through the forest, at her top speed, her mind spinning and tumbling as quick as her legs pumped. She'd been hunted, beaten, almost murdered, and then rescued by her tormenting sire all in a matter of an hour. Gods, she was both knackered and jittery from adrenaline, and the contradiction didn't assist in achieving any semblance of composure. So, for some unknown mysterious reasoning, through an uncharacteristic act, the Alpha had gone out of his way to save her life, rather than attacking or battering her himself. Sure, he'd done it through violence and murder, but she didn't care to knit pick. And, as was usual, he hadn't influenced and manipulated her into doing it herself, calling forth her beast and granting her more strength than she usually had knocking about in her veins, but come himself to do the killing. Severely weird and rather unprecedented.

Before Quinn could realise it, she'd broken through the edge of the trees and ferns, and stumbled out into a familiar clearing. Derek's house. It'd seem she had subconsciously directed herself here, having found safety and succour inside those scorched decrepit walls since the first time she'd been lead within. "McCall," a male voice acknowledge behind her, and Quinn quickly spun around to face it. Derek. The relief that immediately alleviated all of her fright and stress choked her in a much more pleasant manner than the now-dead hunter, and she panted heavily, amazingly resisted the whelming urge to step forward those few short feet and lean into him. Grab a tight hold on him, lay out all her trauma and vulnerability, and take comfort and stability from his very presence through contact. Instead, she managed a tired smile through split, blood-splattered lips, too tired to even say his name. Moving forward himself, he reached out and grabbed a hold of her slender shoulders. She winced, just remembering the bullet-wound there, and he took notice of the dry blood flaking onto his fingers. "What the hell happened to you?"

The stunned demand was quite warranted. She did look like hell itself had risen with the sole purpose of bringing damnation down upon her. Her hair was a clumped mess of knots and blood that bunched together unusually around her shoulders, there were splattered droplets and lashes of dry blood painted across the fair skin of her cheeks and forehead, the skin on the bridge of her only-slightly-broken-anymore nose was cut and blood had spilled from her nostrils to stain down her mouth and chin. Her fingernails and knuckles were torn and sore, and there was a ring of suspicious black and purple bruises slowly vanishing from her throat. Her clothes were torn and ripped in places, and all articles were filthy, her long-sleeved shirt irreparable. It was fortunate she hadn't worn her favourite jacket, lest it be destined for the trash too.

"Ah, not'in'," she drawled woozily, making a dismissive waving motion with a limp arm. The fact she was unable to pronounce the H or G in _nothing_ spoke volumes of what a terrible liar she currently was. All the physical evidence was against her anyway. "Jus- just out for a, you know, a... stroll in the moonlight. Wolf, an-and ev'rythin'." It wasn't pride or embarrassment that stayed her tongue from spilling the true nightmare she'd just gone through, but personal necessity. She couldn't risk him benching her, or postponing their training sessions. She needed them more than ever now. It shouldn't have mattered that the hunters had outnumbered her three-to-one, nor that the Meathead that'd almost killed her had been about three times proportionate to her petite frame. Never should she have gone down so pathetically, with hardly any struggle to speak of. Never again would she be bested so utterly, so effortlessly. It was time to step up her game... but, first, she might just pass out or hurl- or both.

Derek raised a sceptical eyebrow, not buying her pitiful act of casualness for a moment. The blood was sort of a dead giveaway, as was the dazed expression, and hard two-second-long blinks she kept making. "And the blood is what, a fashion statement?" he countered, dead-pan. Bloody hell, he couldn't leave her alone for one day without her going through a new near-death experience apparently. Yet, beneath the budding irritation and disbelief that he wasn't actually surprised, was an intense dogged concern for her that he didn't particularly feel like sharing with her. Although, due to her lethargic dopy state, she probably wouldn't even remember any of this in the morning.

"Well," Quinn started, after swallowing thickly, her throat making a revolt against her, "I confess it's not the greatest nightly routine, but never able to sleep without, so..." she shrugged helplessly, weakly. "Besides, it's not my blood," after reconsidering, "It's _mostly_ not my blood." Then, to get the attention from her, "So, what..." she stalled, tried again, "Wha're you up to? Goin' some'ere, or jus' now com'n back?" Wow, was it just her or was Derek spinning. Only his hands, still on her shoulders, held her in place, keeping her from stumbling or collapsing. Her ears were still ringing, her head lurching in an inconsistent rhythm.

"There was a disturbance at the video store, a report of a murder. The Alpha could be involved, as a 'mountain lion' was said to have been there." They still thought it was a freaking cougar? Then again, a regular person's mind wouldn't immediately jump to werewolves, so it was fair enough. And did he have a police scanner stored away in his house or something?

Quinn gave a sloppy grin, "Awesome. Let's check it out." But his grip on her restricted any move towards his car. "Uh, Derek...?"

"In your condition?" Oh, so she was a bit bashed up, it wasn't like she was pregnant or crippled or anything. She'd heal soon enough. Hopefully. She didn't exactly have the regeneration time down to a science. "You look about ready to keel over, which would really put the cherry on top of my day. The only place you're going is home. Get in the car."

"Right," she nodded decisively. "In the car. To get to the film rental. Oh, come on, please," she appealed, when Derek didn't even bother to open his mouth to protest, managing to be firm and defiant without even saying a word. "Just a five minute trip, we'll check it out, then you can take me home." She paused, realising both how that sounded, and that she'd been able to say it without slurring. Success! "Well, not _take me home_ but take me home- huh, there's not actually much of a different there at all, but you get it. I am a bit loopy. Let's go." Taking off towards his sleek black vehicle, it was only when he caught her elbow that Quinn realised she was going for the drivers' side. "Right. Shouldn't drive in this state, definitely not driving your car. I'm fine!"

Rolling his green eyes, Derek decided just to go with it. McCall was a big girl, she knew her own limitations. She'd be fine for another half of an hour. As he slid into his seat and started up the car, he found himself unsettled by the surprising amount of confidence he had in her. In her resilience and capability. She certainly didn't look it, as she exhaustedly leaned back in the chair to his right and settled herself down as though into a nap, uncaring of the gross flaking blood crusting on her skin... but while there could be a youthful fragility to her, McCall bounced right back. She faced the dangers and her challenges head on, seemingly undaunted by both the outward enemies and the primal beast that was forever now a part of her being. McCall juggled the Alpha, hunters, her mother, her school, her job, her training- all without complaint, and always willing to offer an unburdened grin and irregular media references. Still peculiar.

The police were still milling around by the time they got there, having parked a little away, and then leapt up to the top of the movie rental building. Quinn's brain had settled down a bit during the drive, so she managed to stay on the roof without collapsing off the side, avoiding further injury. "What do you think?" she asked Derek, as she crouched near to the edge, surveying the scene below. A giant Alpha-sized hole in one of the store windows; he'd probably gone straight from there to find her. She still didn't get why he had. There were cops drifting about, an ambulance, coroner, Stiles and his dad were there, as were... Lydia and Jackson. They must've been attacked, but clearly not the one who was murdered. Who then? And why not kill Jackson, who was inflicted with a serious case of douchebaggery? Was there a pattern to the Alpha's selected victims? Why had he turned her of all people, and not several other someones? Maybe he just winged it, with no rhyme or reason, no big finale or masterminded end-game. Kinda disappointing, so she tried not to think about it. But was it too much to hope for one _Mwahahahaha_?

"Who else would be murdering in this town?"

She looked up at him, wearing a limp grin, "You mean, besides the Argents?" She cleared her throat, immediately cowed, at the stony glare Derek instantly send her way. "Sorry." That was seriously inappropriate. "Blame it on the blood loss. Ah, speaking of which," Quinn stood in front of him, a bit wobbly, and gingerly held out the hand on her injured side, "I need you to hold my hand."

Derek narrowed his eyes, squinting at her with an annoyed air, "That'd better be one of your references."

"Oh, come on, I have to dig a bullet out of myself." Another lesson he'd taught her: that you could still heal with a bullet in you, but the bullet would stay hidden beneath the skin, causing bouts of pain at undetermined times. Better just to get it out now. She wiggled her fingers at him, ignoring the twine of pain, and tried her best at a compelling smile, "I promise you'll like it." After a long pause under his scrutinizing stare, he finally exhaled harshly, and took a loose hold of her hand. "I apologise in advance for any broken bones. Or would you like to...?"

"I'm not sticking my fingers into you." When he caught sight of her suppressed snicker, he smacked her upside her dirty head, his palm slapping her right ear. It was somewhat discombobulating. "Just get on with it, McPerv."

He kept messing with her name, she was gonna start calling him _Dirk the Wolf Jerk_. She smiled, far too jubilant for someone preparing to shove their fingers into themselves. "Excuse me for a moment while I choke on your compassion. And here goes nothing." She clasped her fingers tighter around Derek's and, in one quick brave move, shoved her fingers through the skin of her shoulder. Derek's other hand came up swiftly, clasping tight over her mouth, catching her instinctive scream, as the agony flooded her veins. Worse than the crossbow bolt, more painful than when she'd actually been shot, Quinn's fingers rooted through her joint, gouging and ripping through resistant organic gloop- until they finally, painfully grasped the metal projectile and tore it free. The pain relief wasn't instantaneous, but the lack of pressure was a welcome adjustment. Not the sentimental type for things that could've killed her, she flicked the

bloody bullet across the roof and lost it in the dark. The anguish had exhausted her, sapped the energy from her limbs, leaving her droopy and a bit lame. Only Derek's warm calloused fingers twined through her own kept her on her feet, and he waited, surprisingly patient, as her heaves and pants calmed.

"Okay," she breathed, closing her eyes tiredly. His hand had released her mouth as soon as the bullet had been taken from her skin, taking unconsidered residence on the top of her unwounded arm, at her pale slender bicep. He straightened her when she started to fall to one side. "I'm ready to go home now."

* * *

After Derek dropped her back to her house, Quinn was aware, and not embarrassed to admit, that she was far too knackered, her limbs heavy and dragging her down, to leap up to her window and clamber into bed. So she took the front door- and immediately regretted it. Because there was her mother, sitting on the sofa in the living-room, having apparently waited up for her daughter to get home. Quinn ducked her head, down and to the side. Too late. Melissa had looked up at her entrance, and was hurrying over now, horrified with the sight of her daughter's battered, bloody face. Her nose had actually already been unbroken, her split lip had sown itself back together, and her shoulder was no longer hurting her- but all of the gore and dried haemoglobin remained. Damn. "What the hell happened? Were you run over by a steamroller?" She was a werewolf, not a _cartoon_. Before Quinn could think up an appropriate excuse- although she doubted there even was one, given that _I fell_ just wasn't going to cut it, even if followed up by _into a big pile of broken glass... that tried to strangle me_- Melissa's understandable demand for answers was swiftly overridden by her maternal need to heal her daughter, unaware that she didn't need it. "Let's get you cleaned up," she said and led Quinn up the stairs to the main bathroom.

While her mother frantically hunted through the cupboards for wet-wipes and antiseptic, Quinn perched herself on the edge of the bath, licking away the blood on her lips and picking the dried blood from the fabric of her ruined shirt. She'd, of course, considered telling her mother about her change in genealogy. Thought about it long and hard since it'd happened, even started to utter it aloud a couple of times, but the words didn't come. Neither to her mind or out her mouth. There just wasn't a non-heart-attack-inducing manner in which to tell her. It wasn't such an easy thing, to explain to her mother than she was half-beast, went barmy on full moons, was being hunted and sometimes saved by the Alpha that'd sired her, and that her new friend's father and aunt and their friends wanted her dead and made an example of. It was a lot to deal with, and she hadn't wanted to burden her, especially when Quinn was handling it all perfectly well. But it would certainly make it simpler for her to know, to understand her daughter's late nights, her frequent absences, and occasional injuries that miraculously vanished overnight. Less stressful on her mother's mind, too. Well, so long as she didn't mind being a Den Mother. Only one way to know for sure.

As Melissa gently scrubbed the blood from Quinn's chin and the front of her throat, she resumed her questioning. Her nerves were severely wracked, and the panic of not understanding was evident in her quick-fire interrogation, "Have you been in bars, starting brawls? Or is it drugs? Are you taking drugs? Don't think I haven't noticed you sneaking out at all hours. An underground fight-club ring maybe?" Her ideas quickly became more elaborate, less likely. "Quinn, please," she paused, touching a hand to her daughter's, which were poised on her lap to prevent fidgeting. "If you tell me, I won't ground you, I promise. Well, alright, I will, but not as much as if you didn't-"

"Mom," Quinn stalled her, taking the soiled wipe and depositing it in the nearby bin, before clasping Melissa's tense medical hands between hers. Moment of truth, maybe it would be like tearing off a Band-Aid- which she'd rarely done, always one to run it under the tap until the glue had faded away and it didn't rip at the little hairs on her skin. She made certain to keep her tone soft and sober, praying to any and every deity that her own mother wouldn't think her a monster. _Don't hate me, don't be disappointed in me... don't **fear** me_. "... I'm a werewolf."

For a very long time, Melissa just stared. Her face was blank, leaving her daughter with no idea as to what she was thinking. But she didn't scream or cry or run- or all of the above- so that was probably a good sign. Finally, she straightened, put her hands on her hips and said, as though shocked and a bit disappointed, "Really, that's all you got? That the best you could come up with?" She didn't believe her. Oh. Damn. Quinn faltered, not expecting that Melissa would think her _joking_. Alright, so the gentle route hadn't worked, time for the metaphoric slap across the face. Reaching again, to this time take a soft hold of her mother's wrist, Quinn ducked her head slightly, looking up at Melissa through her eyelashes... and allowed her wolf brief control of her features, her eyes illuminated an inhuman gold.

Bewildered, aghast... _terrified_... it took her a moment to respond. When she did, it was to yank her hand away, race from the bathroom and barricade herself in her bedroom. Squeezing her face up in frustration, her daughter stayed where she was for the moment, banging herself in the head with a tight fist. Her previous exhaustion was momentarily forgotten, as she got to her feet, and stood before the wall-mirror. Her ghastly pale dirty face stared, miserable, back at her. Thinking it a good idea to allot her mother some time to adjust, she grabbed a fresh wipe and set about cleaning herself up. Deprecating thoughts flew at her, knocking about in her already messed-up brain. That _didn't_ go well. But it was better this way, Quinn told herself repeatedly, until she slowly grew more confident and sure of it. It meant her mother would be safer- maybe not for her mental health what with all the supernatural creatures running amok, but for her physical protection. She wouldn't have to lie to Melissa, she could warn her off certain people- like the Argents- and keep her from places she could feel the Alpha favoured.

When her skin was clear once more, an embarrassing amount of soiled wipes littering the bin, and her hair was washed, now hanging down her back in wet curls, she looked better. Untouched. Nothing like a helpless victim who'd been very nearly murdered just under two hours previous. But she was still very annoyed with herself. And upset, too, with her mother and her obvious turmoil at the forefront of her mind. Until, as she yanked off her horrid odorous shirt, planning to incinerate it later, to replace it with a soft clean shirt to sleep in- something caught her eye. Something _carved into her skin_. Horror rising in her, and terrified pants breaking in her chest, she covered her mouth with one hand while, with frantic grasping fingers, tracing over the crude swirl symbol sliced at the base of her throat, as though done by a single claw. She remembered how Derek had buried his sister under a spiral of wolfbane, and how, at the time, she'd thought it was about the plant when maybe it was all to do with the shape. Then she recalled her skewed dream, from the Alpha's point of view, of when he had killed the bus driver. He'd cut a rough spiral into one of the seats. Why had the Alpha done that then, and now to her? Why wasn't it healing? What the hell did it mean? Was it the price of his rescue? Did that bond them together, make her an official part of his pack? Was it his way of laying claim to her?

**_Marking_**_ her_.

Hiding it away beneath a layer of fabric, pushing it from her mind and gathering herself to focus on her far more urgent problem, Quinn left the bathroom and approached Melissa's bedroom. She stood before the shut door for a long undecided moment before leaning back against the wall to its side and sliding down to crouch on the carpet, wrapping her arms around her knees, where she rested her head. "Mom, please," she gave a long harsh exhale again, lifting her head when her voice was muffled by her muddy jeans. "Can we just... talk about this? I know that it's like this whole big black hole of madness and mythical things actually being real but... we've always had a thing for the magical, haven't we? Maybe this isn't such a bad thing." Only silence met her. "_Please_."

The final word was one unintentionally formed by her misery and desperation and general emotional suffering, and it irritated her a little by how much of a child she sounded in that moment. But, damn it, she just needed her mother to speak to her. They'd never disagreed on much of anything, not including the innocent petty squabbling that came with mother-daughter relationships, always having been a team against the tide of hurt and disappointment that her father had been. They'd never fought, never resorted to the silent treatment, and none of this sat well with Quinn. Maybe she shouldn't have told her; continued to lie and make excuses.

But then, in a ray of hope, Melissa cracked her door open and looked down at her daughter. In her minds-eye, she saw her little girl, with a stubby brown ponytail, big round blue eyes and a horribly sad look on her pretty face, cheeks wet with tears. Curled up outside her door, as she'd done when nightmares denied her sleep but the desire of being all grown up had kept her from admitting her fears, even to her own mother... her fluffy wolf plush toy Kaname clutched against her chest. The little wolf still resided in her daughter's room, now older and bit threadbare but just as adored. It was officially ironic, she realised.

"Okay," Melissa started, leaning her hands on either side of her doorframe, blowing air from her pursed lips. Quinn could hear her heart through her nifty wolf hearing, still pounding thickly with an irregular beat. She was afraid, but trying to control it. To hide it from her vulnerable daughter. "If I'm going to listen to this, if this is real and I haven't just fallen and cracked my head on the stove, just tell me one thing..." Here goes. Quinn braced herself. "Do you sprout fur?"

Quinn breathed a laugh, swearing that she could almost start openly weeping from her abrupt, astounding relief. "No," she smiled weakly. "I mean, some do, but I just sort of grow claws and fangs and my eyes glow a bit. Some were-" she paused, reconsidered at her mother's wince, used a different description, "some _of my kind_ actually turn into full-blown wolves, but I'm not that cool. Promise. I won't shed on the couch."

Shutting her door, rather than urging her daughter off the floor, Melissa joined her, leaning her back against the door, on Quinn's right; the both of them sitting like girls at a slumber party. After several minutes of silence, they would migrate down the stairs to the living room, curling up on the couch together. Quinn would tell her about the night she was turned, and the situation with the Alpha, and Chris and Kate Argent and their hunter friends. Also how Stiles was the only other person she'd told. And she would mention a werewolf teacher, to assure her mother than she was not left alone to discover her new-fangled powers, that there was another to assist her against the hunters... but she would not give Derek's name.

Afterwards, avoiding more discussion so Melissa could come to terms without her brain melting out her ears, they would stay up way late and watch several movies. Strictly non-supernatural films, so mostly Jane Austen adaptions, teenage Chick Flicks and animated films. The McCall women had an insane amount of movies stacked on shelves, hidden in drawers, even piled up in their individual bedrooms. Quinn's dad had never approved, usually tripping over them when stumbling back piss-drunk or unable to find a place to store his own useless junk he would never use... but neither of the girls cared much what he'd thought. He'd just been this sort of foul-tempered ghoul that'd occasionally shown up, sometimes seemingly making an effort to help his wife with cooking or cleaning and his daughter with her homework- before unintentionally but unapologetically deriding them, or quitting half way through, and just leaving without giving any hint of when or _if_ he'd be back. They were better off now, without him. He hadn't even been a good provider. Quinn didn't even know where he was currently residing, nor did she care. So long as he left her and her family and friends be, so long as he continued to stay out of her life. He was good at that.

Eventually, nearly halfway into _Robots_ 2005, Melissa made an obvious attempt at further conversation. She shifted her distant gaze from the TV screen, and refocused upon Quinn- who paused the movie and quirked her lips up in patient expectation. She didn't want to be nervous, she'd never felt nervous at home since her father had vacated town, but she wasn't so sure on what to expect, and this was her lovely _mother_- so of course she was. "So..." Melissa started, "I think I can do this, so long as... I'm still the greatest mom in the world. I do have the cup to prove it." Yes, Quinn had gotten one of those cutesy mugs- but, in her defence, she was five.

"Oh, yeah," Quinn breathed a snicker. They'd be just fantastic. "Way better than Buffy's mom." She was quickly wrapped up, safe, in her mother's embrace.

* * *

After such a strenuous, stressful and frankly _long_ night, school and its dull monotony of avoiding learning and dozing through classes the following morning was almost a welcome change of pace. Except, Quinn hadn't actually fallen asleep until after four, meaning that she was still exhausted, and tired in the way that makes your limbs becoming itchy and weak. But, with an energy impossible to dampen and a bright smile, she weaved and twirled her way through the corridors, before her classes started, demonstrating her expertise with her clip-on roller skates. They were a birthday present she'd gotten from Deaton when she turned fifteen, after expressing a disinterest in ever learning how to drive. She did eventually learn how, but that was more for practicality sake than an actual desire to know. She just didn't feel right on the road, either going too fast or too slow, stuck behind traffic, and there were so many rules to learn. Cars were also too expensive and liable to break for her taste. Besides, now, as a wolf, she was capable of sprinting as fast as she could ever desire- well, under typical circumstances anyway. She wasn't quite so fast as Quicksilver. Not _yet_. Although, still much better than any vehicle... well, except Nissan Jukes, which were just perfection given a quirky metal form and window-wipers. She wouldn't be surprised if they were all secretly Autobots or- _gasp_- Decepticons.

Spotting a familiar face, she skidded over to lean against a locker at Allison's side. There were balloons coming from her locker, and a birthday card pushed in the door. There also an unfamiliar and rather peculiar pendant hanging from Allison's neck; it was in the shape of a crest, with a wolf clearly etched on the front of the antique metal, and a weird sun-make-out-of-arrows in the corner. Really ugly, but strangely beguiling, family heirloom? She wanted one. "Happy birthday!" Quinn announced, a bit surprised, perhaps a little loud as the newly-seventeen year old immediately shushed her. "I didn't get you anything," probably from lack of previous notice. Sure, Allison had said a few weeks ago that her birthday was in a few weeks, but hadn't specified a day. "Maybe, uh..." Quinn patted down all of her pockets, as though searching for a magically appearing gift-wrapped present, but finding nothing but her keys, phone, some lint and, "Oh! Tic Tac?" Allison smiled a little as she took a small lime mint. Quinn wasn't great at giving gifts anyway, always lost when it came to choosing. Apparently, she didn't get to know people very well, to be able to ascertain what they'd want each new year. And on Christmas too! It was a freaking nightmare. Better when she was just given a list or a specification.

"Thanks, Quinn," Allison smiled, tried to act casual and blow off her obvious discomfort. "You don't have to get me anything." She averted her eyes and shuffled around the things in her locker, but she was powerless against her friend's silent and patient, but prying and unrelenting, wait. Quinn wore a slight curl to her mouth, and had an eyebrow raised, all the while bearing an air that made you _want _to divulge to her your every secret, no matter how embarrassing and/or illegal. "Okay, so I don't really like people knowing... that I'm seventeen. They always love to share their opinions." Ah, she got it. That's when baby and rehab rumours get circulated.

"You mean because you spent a year abroad searching for the location of Hogwarts," Quinn nodded, understandingly. "I thought it was worthwhile endeavour. I know I was one depressed eleven-year-old when I didn't get my letter." But now she was a werewolf and she wouldn't fit in there anyway, given the magic-users' frequent racism against her kind. Hmm, bummer.

"That's not..." Allison faltered, surprised by her wacky answer, before letting out a round of giggles. She closed her locker and leaned back against it, wearing an affection smile. If not for Lydia's confident and comfortable companionship, Allison could've seen Quinn swiftly becoming her best friend. But McCall, with her quirky attitude and moments of unpredictability, was a close second. Hey, who said she couldn't have two best friends, both equally dear to her?

Quinn shrugged. "What are you still doing here?" The answer seemed obvious enough to her. At the girl's following shocked, almost _hurt_, expression, the werewolf hurried to clarify, "I mean, at _school_, not like in town. I'm not telling you to leave Beacon Hills, just that..." she huffed a little in annoyance at her own stuttering, "Feign an illness or an injury or something; go home. Your parents shouldn't have sent you to school anyway. You should never have to go to school on your birthday, like... _ever_." Crazy stupid hunters. That was just a universal truth. School was only for your hundreds of unbirthdays. "But, anyway, I gotta..." she gestured a thumb over her shoulder, motioning that she should get going. Giving Allison a quick smile, and a Vulcan Salute, "Live long and prosper, Ally. See you in class, or perhaps not," Quinn skated off down the hall.

She did hope that Allison would take her advice, freely given from a place of good will and friendship. Some teenaged rebellion was good for a youthful soul, particularly when the added bonus of unshackling her from her overbearing hunter parents' tyranny came into play- even if only a short-lived freedom. Derek had versed her in the inner-workings to the hunter hierarchy, how all the huntresses were raised to rule over all, decree the final decisions; which was cool, she supposed, girl-power and all that... but it also meant that she knew who she had to blame for the order that all hunters go gunning for her tail.

And Victoria Argent would teach her daughter to be just the same way, an impressionable little mini-me with great hair. It was really only a matter of time until Quinn was being hunted down by one of her only two friends- well, three, if Derek counted, but unfortunately he probably wouldn't think so. Point was, Quinn wasn't so naïve to believe that soft, sweet Allison would choose her, spare her, over her family's wishes; wishes that would be stomped hard and inscribed permanently into her brain until she believe the same as they. After all, blood is thicker than water, right? Stronger and sturdier than morals and ethics, too. She wanted to believe in nature vs. nurture, but even that would probably be against her at this point. Some day- someday _soon_, she suspected, she dreaded- Allison would stare down the scope of a gun or a bow- depending upon whether she took after her aunt or her father- and she would take a life. Heartlessly, uncaringly... like a _hunter_. Quinn was no longer callow or optimistic in how far some people would go, what horrible things they would commit against other people, against their own character. She wondered, briefly, shying from the thoughtful consideration upon her own boundaries, just what she would do to protect those she loved. To protect herself.

That was when she saw the wall coming straight for her. It would probably shatter and give before she did. It would fall beneath her wolfy might! Or not, given the hand that caught her by the elbow, swinging her around, saving her from smacking her face against the plaster. "And that demonstration," Adrian Harris spoke, glowering down at her- even with the wheels on her soles, he was some inches taller than she, "of idiocy is precisely why rollerblades are prohibited on school grounds. Imagine the lawsuits if one of you precious space-wasters slipped and cracked your head on the pavement."

"Ah, but," Quinn held up a finger, as she made her point, "these are roller-_skates_, so we're all good." Or not, judging by his no-nonsense face. But, then, it was stuck like that, wasn't it? The wind must've blown. "What if you just don't look at them?"

"Alas, no matter how many times I shut my eyes tight and wish upon a shooting star, you and Mr Stilinski are still here when I open them again." Yeah, and Quinn dreamt of touring the galaxies in the TARDIS with Ewan McGregor but that didn't mean he was about to leave his life out of the blue to zip off into a million sunsets with her. Also, she had no idea where to get a TARDIS. Harris started to direct her towards his classroom, which was already filling up with students. Stiles had a seat in the middle of the room, and there was an empty seat at the same two-person table, as per usual. No people-kicking required, which was a bit of a bummer. As Quinn slid into the chair and unstrapped the wheels from the bottoms of her trainers, Harris started up his lecture. "Just a friendly reminder: parent-teacher conferences are tonight. Students below a 'C' average are required to attend. I won't name you, because the shame and self-disgust should be more than enough punishment."

The door opened then, and if it hadn't been Jackson Whittemore the Star Player Lacrosse Captain, then you bet Harris would've ripped him a new one for being late. A curiousness was Jackson's vaguely wimpy demeanour. Usually he had a total jackass _Everybody Loves Me _strut going on, but at the moment he was sort of withdrawn and closed off. He'd always had a subtle Jenga-like vulnerability to him, liable to topple with one wrong move, but this was absurd and serious unordinary. Hmm. He took a vacant seat, and Harris moved over to him, to murmur quietly in his ear. Quinn could only hear what was said because of her super-hearing. "Hey, Jackson. If you need to leave early for any reason, you let me know." Wow, that was actually shockingly kind and considerate. Probably the least condescending thing to ever come from Adrian Harris. This had to go on the front page of the newspaper in big hot-pink flashing jewelled letters. On maybe a billboard. "Everyone, start reading chapter nine," he commanded, as he returned to pacing around the classroom. And, just because he couldn't resist being a jerk, he decided to be mean to Stiles, who was drolly lining his textbook with a yellow highlighter. "Mr Stilinski, try putting the highlighter down between paragraphs. It's chemistry, not a colouring book."

"Well, mate, there goes my school curriculum," Quinn sassed, flicking her book closed with a muted thump. "Could you point me towards the classroom that'll teach me to paint by number?" She noticed Danny, sitting at the desk nearby them with his Chem partner Mandy Bronson, put a hand over his mouth to cover his smile. Nobody liked Harris, and everyone took amusement from his irritation. Danny and Quinn were on relatively good terms, given that he was a bit of a closet dork and whizz-kid with a computer. Buff popular geek. The two of them had spent many a late nights up playing World of Warcraft together, with his Blood Elf Mage and her Hunter. Besides, everyone liked Danny- he had an effortless charm to him.

While Harris shot her a look that politely told her to _shut the hell up_, Stiles grinned a bit at her talent of annoying their teacher, and spat the lid of the highlighter into the air, where it tinged off the roof before falling back to earth. His best friend then intercepted, wearing a light grin, snatching it from the air before he could grab it. While she handed it over, he leaned towards her and hissed, "Is it just me, or does Jackson look like he just discovered a live grenade in his pants?" Ew.

"Do you mean, is that a pipe-bomb in his pocket or is he just really pleased to see us?" she grinned, before feigning an awkward cough at the look Stiles shot her. The joke was too easy anyway. "But, yeah, the boy-toy was at the video store last night, the Alpha must've really freaked him out. Maybe a bit like-"

"PTSD," Stiles caught on. "Explains the look of pants-wetting terror. Nice deduction, Scoob. What a sissy. I'd never react like that."

"Right back at you, Shagster," Quinn teased, using the iconic slur of Scooby-Doo. "And- hah! Yeah, sure, Stiles 'scaredy-cat' Stilinski. Maybe you're more Daphne." While he gaped at her, she grinned and hurried on. "Speaking of damsels, have you seen Lydia yet?"

If anyone had tabs on Strawberry Shortcake, it'd be Stiles. But he shook his head, looking anxious, "No. Why? How is she?"

"I don't know," Quinn shrugged, clueless and not pleased about it. "I haven't seen her." Maybe she'd been abducted by aliens, or fallen down a well like Timmy. "Think she ditched, had a Pajama Day?"

Stiles considered this, his torso conspicuously turned towards her, while she pretended to be enraptured with her chemistry book, which was in fact still closed. "I wouldn't blame her," he finally said, understandably. Naturally. That attractive intellectual girl could do practically no wrong in his love-glazed eyes. "Big Bad Wolf thinks of gobbling you up, I think you deserve some time at home for R&R with grannie."

Quinn smiled, guffawing a bit, "Then I guess I'm due an all-expenses-paid trip to the Bahamas by now. And what was that you were saying about being affected being contributory to being a sissy...?" she pretended to be clueless. Clearly, that didn't apply to his Lydia lobster. And that was a lot of '_being_'s.

Stiles spluttered a bit, before immediately changing the subject. "What I don't get is that faceless dead guy at the video store." At her pseudo-horrified look, Stiles corrected, "Not _actually_ faceless, Queenie, but I've got no clue towards his name. He could be Francesco Fancybottom, for all we know. I mean, by all accounts, he's completely random."

"To _us_, he is. But maybe not to the Alpha." She thought of the deceased bus driver, Garrison Myers, who'd also been 'completely random'. But he'd merely been a device, right? Meant to be used against her, to tempt her violent impulses and direct her to become a killer, all so they'd be one big happy pack. She might've suspected the same with the clerk's death, only the Alpha hadn't called to her. He'd come _for_ her.

"Mr Stilinski, Ms McCall," Harris interrupted, staring sternly at them from under the rim of his glasses. If his nose was any higher in the air, it'd be in outer-space.

Quinn looked at him with affront, "Adrian, _please_. We are trying to have a private conversation here."

His stare turned steely, edged sharply with distain and resentment, at her insolence. Yeah, he really hated her, and perhaps just people in general. Which begged the question of why he ever decided to walk the career path of teaching impressionable, yet hormonal and disrespectful, young minds. "Well, unless you desire to be held back in school until you are forty, I suggest you refrain from having your little chat until after I have dismissed you. Otherwise, there are, incidently, fifteen different compounds I know of that would keep your tongue stayed. _Permanently_. Be quiet or get out of my classroom."

Making a mocking gesture of saluting and then zipping her lips shut- yeah, cause that would hold her-, Quinn gestured for him to return to his inane prattling with a flourishing wave of her wrist. When he turned to face away, instantly absorbed back into his own dull lesson, she muttered quietly to Stiles, "Did he just threaten me with bodily harm?"

"I do believe so," he responded, looking just as scandalised as she. "Isn't that against his Hippocratic Oath or something?"

Quinn squinted, pursing her lips. "I think only doctors have to take that."

"Oh... well, sucks to be you."

* * *

Derek kept an appraising eye on McCall, as she approached his house, early in the afternoon; her slow familiar trek the archetype for casualness, hands stored in the pockets of her customary jacket, and her hair pulled back into a sensible ponytail. She was a right sight better than when she'd turned up outside his house just the previous night. The vision still hadn't left him alone, ever present at the back of his mind and on his peripheral. He hadn't gotten any answers in regards to her clobbered state, but he also hadn't required them. He'd known the gist as soon as she'd stumbled a frantic path out from the dark woods. She'd been attacked, probably by the hunters' best thugs, and somehow came out on top. Not without her share of injuries, but she was alive and, now, unharmed, so it was considered a victory.

He'd gone out into the woods, immediately after dropping her home, safe and sound. He'd found the scene quickly enough, been struck hard by the overpowering acrid stench of organic rot and thick cloying bodily fluids, and his mood had darkened immediately as he surveyed damage surrounding him. Blood, puddles and splashes of it everywhere. Not McCall's, although there was the bitter aftertaste of hers on the back of his tongue; breezing through with the wind, from further west. Bodies, three males, each much larger than her short skinny build, torn to pieces and tossed up, haphazardly, into the trees. Bullets lodged in trunks and shell-casings littering the forest floor. They'd been trying to kill her, almost succeeded by the ruffed-up condition she'd sported, and _perhaps_... she'd killed them instead.

He would have to get her angry, he knew. That was his plan. Strike her in their training enough time, smack her down onto her ass, and the 'insult' to her abundance of pride would do the rest. She'd be angry and irritable enough to shift, for her eyes to glow tellingly- _golden_, was what he wanted to see, not blue. Her eyes should never have to match his. Change from her natural human blue pigment to the killing sheen of his- what she'd, on several occasions, referred to as _Mako Eyes_... whatever that meant. No doubt one of her endless amount of obscure references.

Derek was down the stairs and in his living room before McCall had made it to the front door. She strolled on in without knocking, and a smile habitually brightened up her face just in response to his proximity, her comfort and ease around him and inside his house increasing with each day they spent in company. Hmm. He wasn't sure he was pleased by that.

"How's your mother adjusting?" He asked, before she could speak. Before she could perhaps decide to tell him herself. It wasn't urgent or dire, but it was a conversation he'd rather get out of the way before he brought her animalistic nature forth by force. Of course he knew McCall had told Melissa McCall. The wolf girl couldn't lie for her life, and it'd only been a matter of time. The original if headache-inducing unrealistic duplicities had actually carried on for longer than expected.

Not surprising, she launched into it instantly, all too willing to be open and honest with him. She trusted people far too easily; they were hardly strangers, but they were unlikely to ever be considered _friends_. He didn't have, he didn't need, friends. He needed to kill the Alpha, before finally taking down the Argents, and then get the hell out of Beacon Hills faster than freaking Roadrunner. The town had delivered him and his family suffering and death on a silver platter and nought else, and Derek had no desire to stick around for longer than he had to. If not for Laura's murder, he never would've come back... probably. But the town, and that one night six years in the past, haunted him, festered in him and decayed him like a disease; tore him open, plagued and poisoned what was left bare and vulnerable, made him question and doubt his decisions, his every move and consideration and feeling, and, on occasion, his capability to even get up and _do_ something. Anything.

There was nothing left for him now. Not since Laura. But he couldn't afford to be miserable, he didn't have the time or patience or will to experience the suffering contained within him or to mourn his losses or wallow in self-pity for what little he had left- which wasn't much at all; not his family, not his house, not his heart. Instead, he shoved it all away and ignored it, in exchange for productivity and a satisfactory lack of vulnerabilities. Last thing he needed was an exploitable weakness. He unintentionally came off as impassive and unmoved as Peter in his damn wheelchair in that bloody hospital... like there just wasn't enough of a person to make up Derek Hale anymore. There was, of course. He had the obligation to end the Alpha, that bizarre dogged sense of rapport towards McCall, an acute loathing and detestation and urge for vengeance against the hunters for taking away all that'd ever mattered that wouldn't be ignored or put aside. But beyond that...? He just had to keep going.

McCall, too unspoiled and resoundingly hopeful to be aware of the dark and tormenting wounds blighting and breaking all that stood before her, just rambled on, filling the bitter silence of what remained of his mutilated family home- his care and love and hope for any kind of future- with chatter he probably should have still found irritating. Just out of principle, than an actually grudge, because _everything_ irritated him now. It was the only thing he was capable of expressing anymore, except the occasional, rare show of concern or consideration. Usually to the girl, unbelievably built from smiles, before him. Not like he spent time with anyone else.

"She's good. I mean, in retrospect, given that she could be planting some wolfsbane in our lawn and brandishing silver knitting needles at me. But I think she'll be fine, once she comes to terms that now I occasionally like to have my tummy scratched-" abruptly realising, far too late, having already spilled the damning secret that she'd spilled the damning secret, Quinn gasped in air for a long moment; overly loud and melodramatic. "How did you know that I told her? Well, you know, besides me telling you that I told her just now? You've never asked about my mom before." Was he clairvoyant? "Were you _watching_ us?" Super creepy. Even worse, she hadn't realised his presence at any point the previous night. Well, obviously, besides when he'd been right in front of her. But then, she had been pretty out of it. And she'd felt like she'd gone fist-to-fist with either the Hulk or The Thing.

She was a fool if she thought Derek was just going to let the Argents come and burn down her house. They'd done it once, what was a few more innocent lives to them? "The Argents are _after you_. They've practically put up wanted posters around town. I had to ensure they wouldn't lay siege to your house in the middle of the night. They've already put the beat-down on you," her broken and bloody state resurfaced in his mind, unbidden, unwanted, "so don't forget they would do the same, and worse, to your mother if they think it will help them to find and kill you."

She folded her arms, a bit defensively, "Well, how did you know it was them?"

"It was either them or the Alpha. You would've told me if it was the Alpha," Derek remarked, knowingly.

She really could be very predictable. "Not necessarily. We could be in cahoots together." Yeah, he wasn't buying it. she uncrossed her arms with a short juvenile huff. "Oh, alright, fine. Yeah, I would." But, as she stood there for a short quite moment, Quinn struggled to tell him about the Alpha's impromptu rescue. Even now that she was better, all clean of blood and well-rested, and knew that he wasn't likely to put off their training sessions, she felt like she would... _disappoint_ him. Which was ridiculous, of course. He wouldn't care how epically she'd failed, he probably wouldn't bat an eye at it. But she cared. "But, anyway, here I am. Ready to get up and at 'em. Raring in fact," she grinned brightly, bounced on the tops of her feet.

Alright. If she insisted. Casually hooking a leg behind her knee, Derek yanked her legs out from under her, sending her to the ground. She gaped up at him from her back, which was a considerably humorous sight. His mouth twitched, before tightening. "That wasn't nice," she commented indignantly. Not angry yet.

"Get up, McCall. I'll give you a moment to actually get ready."

She should've known better really. It wasn't like Teacher-Derek to be so considerate, even if she had been viciously attacked only last night. No sooner had she gotten to her feet, than he'd put her back down again, effortlessly and meanly. But that time she rolled back before standing, giving herself enough time to shed her jacket and her shoes. She preferred to train in bare feet. A few weeks ago, moving around the Hale House sans shoes was just asking for trouble and pain, but after showing up on his doorstep armed with a broom- and getting the door slammed in her face... _twice_- Quinn had swept away all cobwebs and sharp pieces of wood and glass. All she had to worry about now was all the dust and dirt trod in by their shoes.

"And, uh, Derek, FYI, contrary to popular belief and what sucky romance movies would brainwash you into thinking, stalking a girl does not make her like you." It'd only been a minute ago, but it took a moment for Derek to realise that she was talking about his 'spying' on her and her mother. Clearly, she wasn't taking their current skirmish seriously. Yet. His responding expression, and the fist aimed at her shoulder joint, lost nothing in translation. He didn't care what she thought of him. "And don't even try to deny our obvious connection, I mean, Derek, I'm your Padawan." Her breathing was spiking a little, and she moved jerkily, bouncing on her toes, skipping from left to right, back and forth. If she stopped moving, then she felt sluggish and too slow to block against or duck under any of Derek's strikes.

Oh, there she goes. "I'm going to regret asking," he blocked with his arms as she swung her foot at his head, "but my _what-now_?" He really shouldn't have asked. Should've just left it there, and focused on bringing out her wolf. But McCall had that effect sometimes, wielding distraction and side-tracking as effortless as referencing.

"You know, your Jedi apprentice. Oh, but, ew, that means that I would either be Luke or Anakin, neither of which are great choices in my opinion. I never could get past that kiss with Leia. Oh! Obi-Wan," she tried to snap her fingers in triumph, failed to make a noise besides brushing of skin, and forged on anyway as though it'd never happened, "of course- which totally makes you my Qui-Gon Jinn, dude. Sorry, spoilers- you die in your premiering movie. But you are Liam Neeson, so... fair trade."

His expression suggested that he felt his brain melting with every single one of her words. "Hearing you talk... is physically painful. Never call me dude like some moronic frat-boy again or I will let the Alpha eat you. Encourage it, even. And stop talking about Star Trek." Star _Wars_, she corrected, a bit petulantly, knowing that saying it aloud would only irritate him further. Not that she had anything against Star Trek- quite the opposite in fact- it was just that it annoyed her somewhat when people got them mixed up. They were both completely different franchises, each deserving of their individual praises and criticises.

"Fair enough... and, also, _ouch_," both a physical pain from his following strike, and an emotional one from his sharp words. She skipped away, and swung a leg into his side with a heavy thump. "I'm a treasure to be around. I'm what educated people call a gift."

"Then if only I could exchange you for a different Pada-whatever-the-hell-you-said. Stop stalling. I don't plan on spending the remainder of my day here when I could be doing something much more productive with my time than teaching you Werewolf 101. That's what Google is for." Was he serious? Quinn wondered, as she stared up at him. No, she quickly realised, no he was not. Which meant it was a _joke_- hah, awesome. "Focus, McFlipper," he commanded, despite the fact she was not a house-trained dolphin. He swept a leg under her own, and she executed a backflip instinctively. She still managed to look astounded and giddy at her perceived 'coolness', no matter how many times he'd explained that, "As I've said before, agility and flexibility will come naturally to you since you became a werewolf."

"Oh, do tell me more about your flexibility, Derek," she grinned, jokingly. Not the first time she'd made that not-amusing tease.

He rolled his green eyes, drolly commenting, "Maybe later." Yeah, he didn't mean that.

"Pinky swear?" she asked, holding out her right hand and said littlest finger. The look he shot the appendage suggested a violent future becoming it, so she quickly put it away again. Their conversation had briefly taken his mind from the gruesome sight and the gag-worthy stench of those men she might've killed, and their brawl stayed real and sore, but lacking any true frustration or urgency. More a simulation than an actual fight. It must've gone on for half an hour, with Derek mostly on top, before Quinn finally managed to hit him hard enough to knock him down.

"Not bad," he said, as he stood back up. She wasn't sure how to feel, as his words suggested a compliment, but his tone was neither surprised nor proud. Hmm. And then he yanked his shirt over his head. And, although his face remained completely taciturn and humourless, and the move was made with a sense of casualness and seemingly an innocent response to the sheen of hot, exhausted sweat clinging to the both of them- she knew that he knew that she would be unavoidably affected by it. Damn attractive Beta bastard. And the worst part: it totally worked like a freaking, shirtless charm. Her mouth ran dry, her eyes went wide, and her previous sturdy fighting stance drooped a bit. Only barely, did she manage to block his abrupt strike, by throwing her arm up. It would result in a bruise, but that was easier to heal than a broken nose. She followed up with her own quick jab, hoping to catch him unguarded and get payback for that little distracting stunt, but he gripped her wrist, twisting her and yanking it up her back, restraining her against him. Her back to his bare chest. Oh, that was playing dirty- _no, bad brain! Stop it._

"Try not to get too distracted there, McFoxyBoxing," he murmured, mouth against her ear, hot breath on her neck- just to annoy her, and it worked, as her immediate responding thought was one remarkably unbecoming of a lady, but his lighter attitude was also certainly appealing to her. They'd been doing this for about a month now, and, before, he'd been an overly stern and focused fuddy-duddy, as was typical. All work and no play made Derek a dull boy and all that. This was a welcome shift.

But then, the tug of her arm muscle and the feel of his strong restrictive grip on her, caused her mind to snap back to that buff hunter that strangled her. Her eyes and her jaw squeezed closed tight. The disgusting feel of helplessness swelled in her chest, the hatred and bitterness that screamed to tear open his throat, and the terror of death that clawed in the back of her eyes and settled clenched in her chest. She'd been useless and powerless and it made her sick. Never again. Throwing her arm back, Quinn struck Derek in the side of the head, with her elbow. He released her into a quick spin, putting some distance between them. Instantly, he could tell her mind-set had changed. Her previously lax expression had hardened over, now matching his own. She'd become somewhat unwound, and she was no longer playing around. And his own goal fluttered back through. He had to see those golden eyes.

This was where her wolf was in its element. Within these decrepit walls, facing off against someone she'd never actually wish to hurt, the brutal and ruthless animal came out to play. Moving fast, McCall jerked forward with a sharp jab of the knee. It was quickly deflected, but followed up with a kick, that was blocked, and then a good ole punch to his face. It was still akin to two tanks slamming into each other, but it hardly phased him nor did it slow her. She was more fond of her kicks than her punches, Derek had noted to himself after their first few matches. Quicker and stronger with her legs, too. It wasn't prudent to possess a specific asset, as being an all-around fighter was preferable- safer, as well. He'd have to invest in a lesson on punches, build up the lacking strength in her arm muscles. They were rather slender and spindly at the moment. Not packing a particularly hard hit, for a werewolf anyway.

She lashed out with a foot right towards his face, but he caught her ankle, and flipped her. Only, she used her other leg to strike him painfully up the chin, throwing his head back and causing him to be thrown off-kilter, as she recovered to touch her fingers to the ground and lithely flip back onto her bare toes. Then, bending her knees slightly, she pushed off the ground to launch herself forward, bashing her slight frame into his stronger one, knocking them both the ground. A pouncing tackle was another habit she'd picked up from some unknown recess of her strange brain. Derek purposely twisted to land on top, restraining her legs and arms with his, knowing that she'd be unable to escape, and that, in turn, would result in her loss of control with her composure. Sure enough, after a long ineffectual time of straining against his superior strength and loud furious snarls, Quinn snapped at his face with her sharp fangs and scored her talons along the skin of his wrists. Her eyes, _golden_, glared into his blue as she seethed. She wasn't a killer. But, then, just as he expected for her to calm and return to rationality-

...something changed.

McCall's glare darkened on him, her teeth clenched together with an audible _snap_, and with an abrupt burst of strength, she yanked her right hand free from him and lashed out, driving her primed claws deep into his chest. Derek choked, tasting blood, feeling it settle heavy on the back of his tongue, as real serious pain rocketed through him, igniting his nerves and freezing over his muscles. Her eyes were wide with frenzied rage and there was no space for mercy or remorse. This was lunacy and ferocity, dark and corrupt, infesting and clouding her thoughts. It was born from fear, uncontrollable and feral and... _exceptional_ in a wild free way. Fantastic and deadly. Derek retrieved her wrist, holding her arm in place before she could tear right through towards his heart. The contact seemed to shock her, his fingers tight on her lurching pulse, dragging her true senses forward, propelling her forward into lucidity and comprehension with abrupt force. And _horror_, too.

Her eyes shifted to blue and went wide with terror and revulsion at herself, and she ripped her hand from him, scrambling away across the floor. Derek stayed kneeling there for a moment, still feeling the phantom agony of her talons in his chest, but forcing himself to his feet. McCall pressed her hands to her face, one stained with his blood, murmuring miserable apologies quietly. He used his previously discarded shirt to mop up the blood that'd rolled down his skin, leaving only five relatively small but deep puncture wounds from her nails. His chest felt tight, a bruise blossoming beneath the skin, like she'd sucker punched him, impairing his breath somewhat. And that meant yet another ruined shirt. He swallowed back an annoyed sigh, aware it would just make her feel worse. Her endless tirade of _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean- that was- damn it, sorry, sorry, sorry..._ was unnecessary and somewhat irritating. It'd been his fault anyway. He'd called forth her wolf, knowing what a danger it was- he still hadn't forgotten that time she'd thrown them both out his window- and ultimately paid the price. And he was alive anyway. No point in dwelling. She'd said that once, and it was probably one of the considerably few smart things to ever escape her nonsensical mouth.

He went to address her- either by her surname, or a variation of it- when, as she would say, there was a disturbance in the force. He spent too much time around her.

She halted in her murmurs, that were now more said to herself than him; hearing, _feeling_ the same as him. The sudden end to the rumble of cars' engines, the dark threatening presence hunters exuded, the click of their guns at the ready, childish bickering between them. Turning to meet Derek's eye, McCall just stood there for an unwise moment, awkward and unsure, until he grabbed a hold of her elbow and they sped together into the room hidden behind the staircase. There was a door on either side of the stairs, but a wall between them and the front door. They stood beside each other there for a moment, leaning their backs to the wall, until there was a sharp thud; a boot connecting with the front door and it banging against the wall as a result. _They're here_, Quinn resisted the urge to say. So not the time for a Poltergeist reference. Again, she'd never even seen that film. She had both a very diverse and very limited taste in movies. Horror flicks did not make that list, not even the classics. Besides, her life _was_ the supernatural now. What did she need fictional gore for when she had the very real thing at her fingertips? Her actual fingertips, she grimaced, feeling guilt weigh like granite in the gut, as she clenched the hand still dipped in Derek's drying blood.

"No one home," a male voice sounded, as Derek counted their footsteps and heartbeats. Three of them, he reckoned. Two men, one woman, if the heeled boots were anything to go by. McCall shifted to his left, probably noticing, the same as him, as one of the males came closer to their position with muted steps that werewolf hearing could still pick up. Derek pretended to be oblivious to how her warm fingers coiled around his wrist. It wasn't fear that made her do so, her heart relatively steady, but a restraining move. Holding back both him, and herself. It wouldn't stop him from defending his wrecked house. He wasn't foolish, nor was he impulsive, but he wouldn't just stand by and allow them to take what little he still possessed. McCall could leave out the back if she so pleased, but this was his place and he would not stand by while they infiltrated and intruded. Losing everything that mattered made you inherently possessive towards whatever little else you had.

"Oh, he's here. He's just not feeling particularly hospitable," Kate Argent replied, with that inborn mocking tilt to her voice, and Derek bit back his snarl at the sound of her. Bloody hell, he could've gone the rest of his life without hearing her name or her bitchy voice or seeing her malicious face, and died a content man. But now he was going to rip her head from her shoulders. That whore needed to learn to stop messing with him, and quit screwing around in his life. She'd undoubtedly led the assault on his family and his home- and now she would die in its charred husk. The loathing and disgust at just the thought of her made him sick, raged inside him, and his claws scraped across the wall pressed to his back. He didn't usually take pleasure from murder, but just for her he could make an exception.

"Maybe he's out," one of the hunters spoke, then added, as an afterthought, "burying a bone in the backyard." Bloody hell.

Kate practically radiated an air of _are you shitting me?_, "Really? A dog joke? We're going there, and that's the best you got? If you wanna provoke him, say something like 'sorry your sister _bit it_ before she made her first litter'." Quinn clenched her teeth, her mood seriously darkened. She was completely willing to help Derek mutilate the huntress hussy. And then, just to show that she could be even more of a bitch, Kate yelled out, "Too bad she howled like a bitch when we _cut her in half_!" Kate mustn't have thought she needed lungs, because Derek was going to dissect her and throw them across the room. His family would get reattributed, their house bathed in her blood.

Far beyond his breaking point, Derek released a primal murderous roar that echoed through the decrepit walls. When the one hunter got too close, he was quickly and violently disposed of, and Derek left McCall behind to launch himself into the hall. His sight had gone red with hatred and thirst for blood; craving Kate Argent's flesh be gouged open under his claws and teeth, her arterial blood sprayed across his skin and splatted against the walls, for her shrill screams and pathetic wails to become a divine symphony to his ears. The second hunter was taken down with a powerful kick to his chest, and then only Kate remained. She wore a little condescending smirk that made him yearn to tear apart her jaw. Rather than reaching for the gun strapped across her chest, she grabbed hold of the baton-like-pole hanging by her leg. It gave off a brief zapping static noise, but it didn't faze Derek, so blinded he was by the vengeance so close to his fingertips. He charged at her.

Which turned out to be a giant mistake. Just barely brushed by the metal pole, electricity seared across his every tendon. It was like being struck by a bolt of lightning. All strength left him, and he collapsed onto his back, jerking at the pulsations and sensation of jolts wracking his nerves, his muscles and most particularly down his spine. Pained and involuntary grunts snapped in his chest, but he was certain that he wouldn't be to speak if he tried, his teeth screwed together with sparks. It felt like being set on fire, his blood boiling and melting his veins, and he experienced a brief hideous thought to his family, who'd gone through something similar and hadn't survived. Peter's half-melted face, when the injury was still new, raw and mutilated, flashed before Derek's sight, as did the charred and blackened husks of all that'd remained of his innocent and loving and unique and quirkily dysfunctional family. Then Kate spoke again, and his rage and resentment shot through the roof, his shaking hands clenched into fists.

"Oh, what's this?" she murmured, both falsely concerned and disturbingly promiscuous, moving forward a step and holding out the shock-stick as though to run it down his chest. He flinched away as far as he could, still debilitated, trying to push himself to his feet using his misbehaving arms. Her stare was on the slowly-healing gashes in his skin from McCall's thoughtless attack. "Your little Alpha bitch has some kinky ideas. I like that." Derek closed his eyes, nearly snarling out of frustration. Now Kate, too, was sure McCall was the Alpha. Chris Argent must've told her and probably every other hunter in town. She wasn't safe in Beacon Hills; she hadn't been since the Alpha's migration, but least of all now. Bloody hell. "And who could blame her," Kate purred, sickeningly. "I mean, wow, this one grew up in all the right places. I don't know whether to kill it or... _lick it_."

And he didn't know whether to end her quickly, giving her no time to mock or escape, or burn her alive, slowly and agonisingly, as was his preference. His limbs were still rebelling, and Derek rolled onto his front, writhing across the floor in slow, jerking movements. Kate smirked, enjoying watching him squirm. He couldn't get out of there, he couldn't fight her, he couldn't even get to his hands and knees. At least McCall seemed to have gotten out safely. He wasn't giving up, he wouldn't just lie there and allow Kate to butcher him where his family had suffered and died, but he still believed that she was strong enough to be his contingency against the Alpha, and the hunters too, if it came to it. Especially after she takes the Alpha's power. He didn't want her to be forced into that situation where she had to kill to become stronger and safer, to protect herself, but he also knew that, if that was what it came to... she could do it. She _would_ do it. For Stiles, for her mother, and for herself. Derek used the dusty fabric of the nearby couch to push himself up onto his knees. A glance revealed that Kate had indeed followed him, too close. Close enough for him to tear her throat out. Only, when he tried, she shocked him once more, and he crashed to the floor. Fire and lightning alit his skin in agony again.

"Nine-hundred-thousand volts," Kate hummed, smirking. "Never were good with electricity, were you?" Because there were so many people out there that could withstand that much electrons and be unaffected. Dumb bitch, she couldn't even insult right. His werewolf biology was the only reason there would be no lasting repercussions. A regular human probably never would've walked or talked again. "Or fire. Which is why I'm gonna let you in on a little secret. And, well, maybe we can help each other out." Did she had brain damage? Had she accidently shocked herself with her lightning-rod at one point? She definitely hadn't been hugged enough as a child, that was clear. Maybe she was even born with some wires crossed in her brain, and other vital ones short-circuited. He finally collapsed his torso against the battered remains of the doorframe, conserving his energy and biding his time until he could tear out Kate's throat or get to his feet quick enough to bolt through the deserted forest until he was safe. They wouldn't be able to get him in the preserve, it was too large. But not for him. He could run as fast as a car and traverse long distances without tiring. Even in his current weakened state, he expected, if given the right motivation. Fortunately, feeling was already returning to his legs. Unfortunately, Kate thought it pertinent to continue with her inane taunting prattle.

"Yes, your sister was severed into pieces and used as bait to try and catch you. Unpleasant and, frankly, a little too Texas Chainsaw Massacre for my taste. But quite true. Now, here's the part that might really kick you in your balls... we didn't kill her." Bullshit. Complete and utter crap. But, even if it was true, that Laura had been killed by the Alpha as he'd suspected for some time now, desecrating her corpse in an attempt to finish off him and the Hale family was hardly a forgivable act. "That's right. Your little red-eyed whore had been keeping secrets. Some really big fat hairy ones." She regarded his hard unreadable expression, and smirked, enjoying his assumed heartbreak. "You know, it's actually all kinds of hilarious- well, not for you, but... history repeating and all that. Again, you've hooked up with a hot brunette that's been screwing you over, while just screwing you."

Just as Derek prepared to attempt speaking, probably something very scathing and foul-mouthed, there was a loud crash that echoed through the house but originated from where he'd left behind McCal. Damn it! She hadn't left when she'd gotten the chance. Why the bloody hell not? "It seems someone's been sleeping in your bed, and they're still there. I'll just go check it out, shall I? I'm the jealous type, after all," Kate hummed, before taking herself on a tour around the entirety of the first-floor. When she found nothing of interest, and nobody to torture, she returned to Derek, satisfied they were alone. Not counting her hunter buddies who were still down for the count. "Ah, it's a creaky old house," she rationalised, bored now. "All it'd take is one good huff and puff to blow it all down, isn't that right?" Brilliant, more Big Bad Wolf jokes. "Now, where were we?" she asked, rhetorically. "Right. Dead sister. No, not the little one- what was her name again? Crystal, Coral- some stripper name like that. Anyway, you don't believe me, right? You think I'm lying," she said, like he was dreadfully dull and unoriginal.

Derek might not have responded at all, but at that moment he spotted McCall, coming up behind Kate. Her face wasn't human, set in a stony animalistic snarl of pure loathing. Her golden eyes couldn't have been more murderous had they been bright blue... or red. So he forced himself to bite out, "Wouldn't be the first time," to keep the huntress' attention on him, while McCall gripped one of the wooden poles of the staircase banister, and broke it off with a loud violent _snap!_ When Kate turned towards the abrupt noise, she was brutally bludgeoned across the face- once, _twice_, **_thrice_**. She hit the ground like an anvil, her hair spread out across the floor and covering her soon-to-be-bruised face, while her abuser grinned sharply. That'd felt good. Really good. Empowering, after the failure that was her brawl against those hunters the previous night.

McCall's ponytail had come undone and her hair cascaded over her shoulders in wild waves, her features slowly softening as her eyes returned to their natural blue and focused upon his prone figure as she held out a hand to help him up. She wore a black t-shirt with, in bold green lettering, _You Won't Like Me When I'm Angry_ inscribed on the front- something she clearly found humorously ironic-, also black yoga knee shorts, and her bare toes were dirty and smudged a dark grey with particles of dust and dirt. There was also a light layer of sweat still drying upon her fair skin. She looked older than she was; her sweet face that made her look younger than she was, gentle yet hardened in some near imperceptible way. Mature. Beautiful in a mismatched way. And she'd stayed, just to save him. His eyes narrowed. Then, when Derek saw Kate's hand jerk suddenly, reaching for her assault rifle, he bolted to his feet with a speed that surprised even him, grabbed a hold of Quinn's offered hand and yanked her out of his decayed house before the bullets could start flying. Fantastic, there'll holes in the walls.

They must've been running for several uninterrupted minutes before finally stopping, with Derek briefly leaning his weight against a nearby sturdy tree. The sensations flowing through his limbs were constant and extremely unpleasant. A side-effect from the electricity, he was sure it would wear off soon, but that didn't banish his discomfort. It was an invasive feeling that encouraged fidgeting, promoting the need to keep moving. Like bugs crawling beneath his veins, a live wire touched to his veins, similar to adrenaline in how his skin tingled and his head lurched with his heartbeat.

Annoyed with it and his ineptness against Kate both, Derek rolled his bare shoulders, and started to walk, mindful of McCall hurrying to catch up to him. Chancing a glance down at her, steady and comfortable at his side, he took note of the thoughtful frown that touched upon her lips, tugged them downward, and watching it slowly become an actual pout. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, aware that not five minutes previous, she'd risked herself. For him, so she could assist, when she could've- _should've_- fled as soon as possible. But, then, self-preservation had never seemed to be her strong suit. Hmm. "What's wrong?" he asked, taking careful measure to keep his tone from straying into annoyance or impatience, but just coming off as stark and disinterested. Figures.

McCall didn't seem to notice anyway. "I lost my shoes," she moped, miserable- before brightening considerably, abruptly. She grinned, seeming to find amusement in her own complaints. After a short bout of charming little snickers, she then realised, "Aw, and my jacket too," instantly dismayed once more. "I love that jacket." Yes, he'd been aware, given how she rarely was seen without it.

That time he did roll his eyes, but averted his head so she remained unaware. "I'll get them back to you later," he told her. They were, after all, in _his_ house.

He watched her smile away, hands clasped behind her back as she strolled along without an inkling as to where they were going. Truth be told, he wasn't sure himself. He knew that within an hour, the hunters would have vacated his house and, supposedly, left what remained of it still standing. But until then, Derek expected they were confined to the woods. He caught sight of a broken branch, and suddenly remembered the dismembered hunters from last night. His stare returned to the wolf girl beside him. "What killed those hunters?" he voiced. He knew what had, but he wanted her to admit it.

Her wide eyes snapped to him. She was immediately aware just which hunters he was speaking of. "Well, it wasn't me!" McCall declared, suddenly sober. "Derek, if I'd killed those men, I would've been a much bigger mess than I was when you found me. I'm telling you; sobby tears, runny nose, gasping breaths. It wouldn't have been attractive. I'm not a pretty crier." Well, she didn't think she was. She'd never posed before a mirror just to inspect herself weeping.

Grim when reminded of the horror that'd befell her, Quinn accidently bumped her wrist against Derek's arm as her hand involuntarily went to her throat, palm splayed over where, beneath the thin fabric of her shirt, that damn spiral still decorated. She wondered if it would ever heal completely, because it was like she could _feel_ it constantly sliced into her, a trench in her skin. It was all in her mind, she knew that, but it didn't banish the paranoia. Derek followed her hand with a suspicious gaze, but had no clue as to what she would be hiding. "I expect you wouldn't believe me if I said they did it to themselves?" she chanced. Not even a little. "Each other? A rabid rabbit? Huh, that's kinda funny to say," she said, side-tracked. "Rabid rabbit, rabid rabbit, rabid rabbit, rabid-"

"McJabber," he interrupted, sharply. Mc_Jabber_ now. That made three of those nicknames in just a few hours. He was on a roll today. "What killed those hunters?" he asked, slowly this time, with limited patience. She just fidgeted and avoided his eyes. "It was the Alpha, wasn't it," he demanded, no longer phrasing it as a question.

She finally admitted, snappily, although she was more mystified than indignant. "Fine! Alright, yes, I confess that it was the Alpha that saved my life." Ugh, it was even weirder saying it aloud. She still didn't get the punch line.

"Why?" Derek muttered, more to himself than her.

She answered anyway, rather unhelpfully, but explaining her own motives of uncharacteristic secrecy. "I don't know. I called out to him, and he came, even when I didn't expect he would. I wanted to get answers or more information or something before I told you. Now we just have one big Why-dunnit and Who-is-it and no leads to speak of in our mystery. McSherlock, I am not." He stayed silent, enraptured within his own Mind Palace, analysing the information he had with what little psychoanalysis there was on the unknown Alpha. She'd done that all last night, while curled up drinking Coke and watching movies with her equally introspective mama, and so was left somewhat bored and out-of-sorts, still really lost. She'd gotten nowhere with her deductions earlier, and still had none now. It was extremely frustrating, threatening to put her into an instantaneous bad mood.

Not letting it get her down, Quinn released her annoyance from her endless abundance of questions and lack of answers in a long sigh. Closing her eyes briefly, she breathed in deep the overly sweet earthy scent of the forest, felt the soft soil compress beneath the soles of her bare feet, gently brushed her fingertips across the slightly rough skin of an overhanging leaf. Her stare inevitably returned to the tall blank-faced Derek, and she plucked free a little blue flower, offering it to him with a winning smile. She'd hoped it would perk up his mood, if only slightly, but he just looked at her side-along, now vaguely annoyed looking. She thought about reaching up to tuck the flower behind his ear, but that would just result in his killing her, so she tangled it up in her own hair. It took a few tries but she finally managed to settle it at her own ear. Then she said, "Kate Argent was telling the truth, you know."

Derek stopped walking and turned to glare at her with all the intensity of trying to explode someone's brain with your mind, which was fair enough. Just saying the words made her tongue burn like she'd spoken the worst sacrilegious abomination imaginable. The Argents were never truthful or right- specifically not brown-haired harpies with shockie-sticks and sniper rifles. "I thought you knew." How could he _not_? Was all this vehemence against the Alpha stemming directly from the fact that people dying? Sure, it was the right thing to do and all, but he should still be applying for a humanitarian award or something. Amazing. "There were _bite marks_ on her... on Laura's.. _body_," Quinn grimaced, choosing her words carefully, hesitant and unsure. She couldn't believe she had to tell him this. She'd never wanted to upset him or hurt him- or however this news would affect him. "And the police found wolf hairs as well."

His silence ate away at her for the longest time. Incapable of finding her own words, after swallowing hard, Quinn looked up those several inches to focus on Derek's intense green eyes. Such a rare colour, alive and unique- but anguished and haunted by the bitter burden of suffering, both his own and others'. He didn't look like he doubted her or blamed her, at least. His stare flittered over her troubled features, her equally bright blues, and her heart burned and clenched in her chest because, for a brief moment there, he looked... lost. So forlorn and searching that she fought against the urge to hug him or touch his hand or something meant to be equally as comforting, given she doubted anything of the sort would be very well received. He must've found whatever solidarity or certainty he was looking for, because then that moment ended, and his face hardened as he turned his head away to his left, her right. Not looking at anything in particular, just not at her.

"Don't bother coming here tomorrow," he said, more a command than a suggestion. His eyes had narrowed, and his tone was a mixture of indifference and frustration. "I have things I need to see to. I'll contact you- without finding a tall building to jump off of." The mention to their second- and fourth, too- meeting was a surprise, and pleasant enough to dilute the simmering upset from the delayed lessons that were usually daily, but not banish it completely.

Quinn considered protesting, or complaining, or even throwing a mild hissy fit- but Derek was gone before she could open her mouth.

* * *

After her shift at the Vet with Deaton- he offered to spay her for free! not really- Melissa swung by and retrieved her daughter, driving them both to the school for the Parent-Teacher conference. All things considered, it was kind of a miracle Quinn's grades were only floundering in Chemistry and History. Neither of which she'd ever been particularly brilliant at; the first because all the chemicals all had names that were such a mouthful, and the second because there was just _so much_ of it. The night was dark and cold, but the school was bustling with teachers and a surprisingly little amount of teens; the atmosphere relatively lively and warm. Having already spoken with Mr Edward DiNardo to do with her History score, the McCall ladies were forced to wait to speak with Harris, so they stood about inside, amongst the other parents. While Melissa conversed with Sheriff Stilinski, Quinn inspected the surrounding familiar faces. She noticed Lydia's mother speaking with Jackson's dad, and narrowed her eyes because she'd been convinced for a while that they were having an affair- although she technically wasn't married anymore, he still was, although it was on the rock last she'd heard gossiped around. Stiles had gone to check on Lydia earlier, and found a video on her phone of the demonic Alpha that'd tormented and saved Quinn. He'd instantly called up his partner in crime/crime-fighting partner but, deciding there wasn't actually anything useful about it, they'd just resolved to delete it from the traumatised teen's cell.

She spotted Chris Argent then, standing with a striking ginger woman that was supposedly his wife Victoria. Hey, even racist killers had to have someone, right? Immediately, at the sight of him, she thought of Kate, although they looked nothing alike, and her attack on Derek earlier. Just the remembrance boiled bitter hatred in the pit of her stomach, her teeth clenching hard until her whole jaw and gums ached. Thing was, the harpy had been so certain that Quinn was both the Alpha and that she was sleeping with Derek. The first meant Chris must've spilled who he thought who she was, and the second was definitely highly presumptuous. Sure, Derek had had her fingernail punctures in his chest, but otherwise...

"Promise they're not going to tell me you've been eating your homework," Melissa teased, and Quinn turned back to her mother, finding that Sheriff had moved away, heading for Coach Finstock's classroom. Oh, a dog joke. Very original. She'd have to check out the internet history on her computer, because Quinn bet her mama had Googled an endless supply for free usage at appropriate times.

Quinn scoffed playfully, "Please, I haven't done that since I was thirteen."

"You haven't used that excuse since you were thirteen, or you haven't actually eaten your homework since then?" Melissa wondered, furrowing her slender brow. Her daughter just grinned cheekily, giving no answer. It was time, then, to head in to see Harris. As she followed her mother in, Quinn glanced back and caught the steely staring eye of Chris. His gaze was scrutinising, and it made her uneasy, so she quickly looked away. He might've not been risking it enough to shoot her out in public, but she wasn't about to push it. He'd already squealed on her, resulting in those Alpha-shredded hunters nearly killing her, who was to ensure he wouldn't 'accidently' run her over with his car out in the parking lot.

Harris was, as per usual, in a bad mood. Or, at least, he looked like he was in a bad mood. There were two seats in front of where he sat, and the McCall women each took one. "It's not her attendance that's in question here," Harris spoke, jumping right into the deep end. "It's the lack of attention she gives when she is here. It's unlike the last few years, where the reason for her being held back seemed, if I didn't know any better, _intentional_," he shot her a cowing look and she grinned, appropriately sheepish... which wasn't very much at all. "Now, it's as though she can't find the time or effort to put into her schoolwork. And I've also seen Mr Stilinski poking her awake far too many times." Well, wasn't he such a tattle-tale, and he saw that? Hmm. "I have to ask, how is the situation at home?"

Melissa and Quinn shared a look. Well, to be fair, the situation at _home_ was fantastic, no problems there... probably because as each day went on, she spent less and less of her time there. She usually left early in the morning for school, then worked-out with Derek, then her job, then back to Derek's, to get home for some food, and then perhaps an episode of one of her many favourite shows, before bed. And sleeping for, at a general, about four hours before she was up again for some trampling through the forest- and sometimes running from hunters that wanted to spill her blood. She'd never been much of a sound sleeper, but since being sired, the Call of the Wild had invaded her, leaving her no choice but to head its sweet call. Honestly, it was kind of humorous. It was like the two of them were keeping this humungous secret from the rest of the world.

They turned back to Harris, and said, together, "Fine."

"Right." His squinting eyes and dubious tone spoke volumes on how deeply he didn't believe them. "I was speaking more of a male authority figure." A _what now_? "Specifically, your relationship with..." he fiddled with some papers, his furrowed brow slinking beneath the border of his stylish glasses, "ah, yes, your father- Rafael McCall. I don't believe he resides in Mystic Falls anymore." Quinn gaped at him, with affront. What the hell did bringing up her absentee dad have to do with anything? Last she heard, he was this big-shot, now working for the bloody FBI or some law agency like that, with absolutely no time to even call up his only kid.

"No, he doesn't," Melissa sighed lightly, wearing an expression of bitter hilarity and relief. "And, trust me, we're better off without him in the picture."

Harris peered at the silently seething Quinn. "And how do you feel about it?"

What, was he her therapist now? She didn't need a shrink, or anyone asking how her daddy-issues were going. "Well, if by _authority figure_," she gave sarcastic air-quotes where required, "you mean showing me how to drink my own weight in alcohol and then projectile vomit it all over the walls, then yeah, I suppose I've missed out on some very crucial father-daughter experiences." She gave a harsh exhale, irate at any mention of her father never mind actually having to converse openly about him, and laid it all out in front of them, "Look, things are easier without him around. If he sat here, right now, which I can assure you he never would because he'd be too busy at a bar, you would probably wanna punch him in the face. He was not a likeable guy, and, as said, we're better without him."

While Melissa expressed an equal amount of delight and sadness at her daughter's opinion on her disappointment of a dad, Harris just managed to blow away all of the awkwardness brought forth by her incensed rant, by shuffling his papers again, and ending the therapy session. At least she hadn't been forced to lie down on a little sofa in his classroom- unfortunately, there wasn't one, because that would've been cool for class.

"A male authority figure," Melissa quoted, scowling in indignation, as they exited out the back of the school. Most of the conferences had finished up, and the parents were all milling about, not yet getting into their vehicles. "Is he always that insufferable?"

Quinn quirked an eyebrow, "Are you kidding? That was Harris being _happy-go-lucky_." He was relatively polite and everything.

Melissa shot her a sympathetic look, and tucked her underneath an arm, herding her towards where their car was parked. They had made it halfway, when a woman screamed, terrified and surprised. The abrupt overly loud shrillness was nails on a chalkboard to Quinn's heightened hearing. Her mother unthinkingly released her, as more people yelled and started to run in panic, and the two of them glanced around for the catalyst. The werewolf hurried over to leap up onto the back of a nearby pick-up truck she believed was owned by the parents of Jamie Metcalfe, aiming for a better vantage point. She witnessed Chris Argent going for his car and the weapons hidden within, Coach Finstock leaping into his own, some people barricading themselves behind the school doors while most went for their cars, and she particularly focused on her mother and Stiles' dad. But she couldn't see any monstrous shapes. When the engine below her feet rumbled to a start, Quinn jumped down and scooted between the many cars, heading for where the others were fleeing from, but it was madness and she was being shoved from all sides.

It was the Alpha, it had to be. Only, she failed to view the demonic wolf-man that'd acted as murderer and saviour. As she weaved through the dangerous maze of stationary and speeding cars, Quinn tried to focus on and grasp the metaphysical ribbon of connection between her and her sire, but she couldn't feel him. She blamed it upon her frenzy and lack of concentration. She saw the Sheriff through the space between two cars, and swiftly launched herself over the top of a Ford sedan to get to him. There were human screams and animalistic snarls echoing in her ears, but her mother was safe by the school, away from the crazy drivers, and Stiles' dad's was next on her priority list. She got to him just as he moved behind a reversing car, and leapt forward, slamming her inhumanly powerful hands down onto the bumper to stop the car in place and keep it from hitting him. The metal morphed and became misshapen beneath her strength, moulding to her dexterous fingers.

"Quinn...?" the Sheriff muttered, shock making his voice quiet and breathy, and she grimaced as she looked sideways at him. How to explain this one?

Before she had to, two gunshots blasted through the air, and the Sheriff pulled her to him to shield her, just in case. But, quickly, the people calmed and all began to migrate towards the origin of the firing. Melissa came racing over to the two of them, as Quinn stepped out from the Sheriff's protecting hold. For one moment there, one very brief stupid moment, she... _feared_ that Chris Argent had just killed the Alpha. Then that moment ended, and she escaped her stupor, to bolt forward; pushing and weaving her path through parents and teachers alike, to end up standing beside Chris.

It didn't even occur to her that she was right next to her mortal enemy, but it wouldn't leave his mind. He stared down at her with his terse expression, inescapably feeling the weight and burden of the gun in his hand- the hand nearly pressed up against her side. All it would take was a jerk of the wrist, one twitch of the finger to put her down with a single bullet in her heart leaving her no time to heal before falling. But faced with Quinn McCall's youthful features, he was nearly incapable of perceiving the dangerous wolf beneath her human visage. He wasn't naïve or gullible, but he also wasn't heartless, and he'd seen her stop that car from running down Sheriff Stilinski. She might be the Alpha, but he found himself doubting that. She was probably just another Beta, turned by the true Alpha. And that was why he'd kept her identity secret- from his wife, from his sister... because, as much as he loved them, they were ruthless and wouldn't hesitate at Quinn's pretty sweet face. But they'd found out anyway. Kate had seen her sprinting away from the house, that night she'd stolen their supply of wolfsbane bullets- which they were in the process of getting more of. But the hunters hadn't yet learned her name, and he couldn't bring himself to tell. At least... not yet.

Chris Argent's hunter gaze followed Quinn's then, inspecting the mountain lion he'd shot. It was still breathing, it's chest rising and falling more shallow and slow as the seconds went. He watched the petite werewolf kneel down and press her hand to the coarse fur of its middle. While they all stayed quiet, there was a tenseness that washed over the group of emotional people. A wounded animal was an especially dangerous one, and nobody wanted to see Quinn McCall get bitten or clawed.

They needn't have worried. The dying animal gleaned _comfort_ from her touch... before it grew cold and still.


End file.
